i love you,
but it is the worst that i can do—
to burden you with yearning,
my love is nothing but pesteration.
you deserve the world,
and even more of it;
i apologize for my frailty,
but if the day comes
that i find myself worthy to love:
i hope you accept
this gift and cherish it;
i seek of nothing in return.
yet, in the end,
i could only hide
the myriad of things
i want to say
in words, haphazardly,
and hope you see
what it was
that i had to tell.
written in a span of weeks, collected from the shitshow that is my twitter(x?) feed.
i intend this for one person but i doubt they're even on here, and it's the paradox of being more comfortable to bare my soul to a million strangers than to that one person.
all these years passed and i'm still this lovesick.
in any case,
i hope you're doing well, stranger.
Nes