My mind paces,
stalks in circles around thoughts of you.
And the others.
I have concluded that I am unlike
all the other humans.
I’m not sure what it is
that makes your species so.
Perhaps it was ingrained
in the fibers of the earliest of lonely
and jealous people to stalk this planet.
You, and they, are preconditioned
to find one mate,
to pair with one soul,
to love monogamously.
Until the last breath rattles
from your aged and withered lips,
Or maybe just the bitter breaking
of your preconceived infallible bonds.
No, I have the anomaly of loving,
truly, simultaneously, loving
more than one of you.
It’s a curse.
And it is MY curse.
It’s true.
A forbidden love,
so passionate,
for more than one.
It is this multitudinous torture,
to be riddled with the guilt
that accompanies living in this one
cannon timeline.
Why can’t I have a parallel universe?
A paradox of many lives and love?
I am spliced so many times,
Fractionated, less than human.
Like a whisper of what I once was.
Several panes of glass that don’t quite touch
Thin, fragile and a false face of totality.
The space between each, is the overwhelming vastness of eternity
that blinds in lonely blackness.
Every sheet is a separate piece
of what once was
me.
And the galaxies separating each,
spread farther with the passing
of light-sped time.
I know the love I feel is real.
It will not waver.
But also, doesn’t matter.
It breaks my heathen heart
to have spun these silken webs
of deeply bonded love onto others.
Entangling them in passionate emotions that are absolutely unobtainable at worst
and just out side of reality at best.
What does this make me?
Am I not a human?
Is this an evil, inside of me?
Am I demon?
There is no answer.
And there is no hope of forming
an inception with my victims,
Nor an existence for my species.
I mourn in lonely secret solitude.
I am the first, and last of my kind.
To write this, now I am empty. The void.