Hm, wasn't really sure about my announcement.

I am not sure how to say it out loud and embrace it. Anything celebrated in my life usually dissolves and becomes weak. So weak it crumbles and leaves me.
I am appreciative, I am in an infatuation of love. I have created an outlook which to hold my life too, why.
I am intrested, I want to know more.
I gaze into his eyes, knowing something's different. But what can it be?
Is it he who is strange, or I. Will I find something so disturbing that I cannot look past?

From his silhouette next to the silhouettes of men past, this cannot be as bad. this can not be horrible, and I am not shallow. My love for others stretch far and wide, I do not see the mistakes or troubles of some, but the great that is waiting to come out. The new I never get to see, the love they have to show, and the unique life they will spare me.

From what I am  witness too, to what I am guilty of, a tamper dove of ignorance seems to fly through.
I am disturbed, I am insane, but I am also obsessive.

Obsessed not with those I am with, nor those I meet, but with the lives they live and the eyes I gain.

Insufferable pain

I might just die, the pain throbbing through my system, flowing in and out my vessels I cannot be still.

Ouch...

I would rather be done, rather be gone, my dramatic stay cannot be any longer. Put me out my misery and throw the stone.

I am done. 

Hm...

I'm nervous, I'm scared and I'm worried...
What is wrong with me? I feel myself acting out, being strange... what is it about him that I am so willing to give my life to his feet? Can I not control myself? Are my knees too weak to sustain the constant led foot of my heart?

I wake at night, thinking about him, I wake in worries as to whether or not he will like me in the morning. Like a complete opposite, but yet completely the same.... I feel an infatuation of a sort, love is too lovey to simply toss.

We will have to wait and see.

Again

After time and time again I spend the hours with others, others whom I had not planned to be with- those whom became me by some catastrophic mistake.

I yearn to become one, once I've already been two; those who are happy, and those who pretend. Becoming the one who pretends to enjoy my own lonesome weather, after seeing myself as one who did enjoy it.

I'm done.