The mere sight of you, your presence—
makes my organs function peculiarly,
unhinges me entirely,
to the point I no longer recognize my own body.
This is not me—
so unlike me,
to show this much emotion,
to lose myself before something unfamiliar.
I can't trust this foreign state,
where I feel this vulnerable,
where an uncanny euphoria
erupts— against my will.
I never agreed on this.
If only deleting your existence
were an option—
as if you never were.
May 27
May 27, 2026 at 6:52 AM UTC
The mere sight of you, your presence—
makes my organs function peculiarly,
unhinges me entirely,
to the point I no longer recognize my own body.
This is not me—
so unlike me,
to show this much emotion,
to lose myself before something unfamiliar.
I can't trust this foreign state,
where I feel this vulnerable,
where an uncanny euphoria
erupts— against my will.
I never agreed on this.
If only deleting your existence
were an option—
as if you never were.
is this love?
