Diffusion is the act of a high concentration going to a low concentration, and vice versa.
However, what happens when the concentrations grind to an ugly, messy halt? I've seen this happen, once too many times.
It's ugly.
Crumbling.
Pathetic.

Every ache ends in another night of weekly wines, and daily sobs; does it help? No.
The light of the TV glow gives her a sense of motel cheapness, like a stain that the dry cleaner can't get rid of.
Is this the act of diffusion?
Yes. Yes, it is.
The self-deserving, overly confident diffusion. It's left its victim drained and powerless. She doesn't sleep anymore.

The moment I saw it, I needed to have it.
It was soft, gentle, and carefree.
I was rough 'round the edges and feral.
To be fair, I didn't see us ever working out, but look at us now.
If it's grey, and I'm blue, then God, we make such an unthinkable color, but ******* hell, it's our color
From the clenched teeth to the scraping of nails on a chalkboard, it's our kind of love, and it's never going to go away.
I may seem possessive, and needy, but God. I am so afraid of it leaving, and being desperate to find a way to lock it back in place. I love it, and I love it more than it needs me, but ******* hell. It's our love.
Nothing can take it away.
The rain will still pour.
The wind will still whistle.
We will still remain in our memories and memoirs of today.