Why is it that I have the most wonderful man in the world, but I cannot love him.
He is tender, gentle and kind.
He is like a paper boat.
Waterlogged and sodden.
There is no charge.
No charge for anything at all.
He's a poppet.
A pedantic one

He's set in his ways.
No exhilarating vibrancy.

Like a scratched old record.
Outdated.
Decent.
Loving.
Caring.
Boring as a weevil.
Playing in my brain.
He's hellishly different.
What do I want?
To go to sleep perhaps.
So bored.
(C) LIVVI