Object of my unyielding affection
Cause of my unceasing destruction
Beautiful bane
Blessed blight

Lamb of willing immolation
Embrace for love, my unsalvation
Surrender to pain
Cursed light

I’ve run out of reasons.
I haven’t the desire to justify.

…in that stifling, suffocating quiet of sadness, I wish. Never a wisher, but I wish… that he loved me; that he would one day love me, as much as I love him.

Then I laugh. Not at the sadness of it but at the impossibility of my dream.

He could never… No one could ever, love me as much as do him.

And I am happy.

There is a comfort in disillusionment.
In knowing that nothing that seemed to be was real.
There is a peace in knowing that the dreams, the ghosts that you chased with such fervor, are simply not there.
They never were.
There comes, in that moment of clarity, an understanding that you cannot lose what never was…

And that means something.
That you have lost nothing.

There is no comfort in knowing that it all ended with one last lie.

I cannot care for someone who has forgotten how.
You were so determined and you succeeded.
I told you once that I would love you until there was nothing left.
You always get what you want.
This is my stop.

I lost him to a ***** named Madness

Love is the most selfish of acts. We choose who we love, how much, how long and never without the desire to be loved more than we love. But when it is right. When the selfishness between two people is compatible, when the madness aligns, qismat.

We do not come out of it empty-handed. Bloodied and broken but not empty handed. We are all afflicted.