I see you and only wish to hold you.
It's all I want to do sometimes.

Sometimes my heart aches with the thought of you in my arms.
It encompasses me and engrosses me.

Me, something that loses meaning with every use.
You, an idea that never ceases to escape.

Escape is for the ill-willed.
I'm perfectly content living in this home-made prison.

Prison is a concept not alien to me.
But if I had the choice, I'd choose prison over the old "freedom" I once claimed.