So suddenly, certainly, the certainty
Itself, as it was does seem to vanish.
It had been... Had it not?.. Been.
Real as the hidden clauses, was it not love?
Contingent upon unfaultered perfection, love offered
Promises given, whispered and offered in acts and,
In written words poetically dedicated and surrendered.
Known to be as it holds a cadence it, this, unspoken unobtainable and loafty demand that nothing less,
No hint of weakness or need of any but your own be shown.
At pain of loss, at loss of stature and withdrawal of unproven unconditional love whispered across those infuriatingly
And unforgettable lips I know I do and will and forever still promise to, try after, cry over forever to fail for, you, yours, our love. As I know no want no need, no other will be mine, as it seems neither are or will yours be mine... Love.
As human and imperfect and made of lesser things than the stone you desire, I am destined to fail, every attempt I make at being perfect.