It is a torture of sort. The uneasiness of where the road can lead to, with only a few things that we know and hold true.. we endlessly hold out, all of our lives, we hold a lantern into the thick dark fissure of life until something of habitual significance comes along…then, we linger, again, for an encore.

I love you
Even though
My dear,
My dear
I know
It's wrong for both of us
And I'd rather hurt you
Now
Instead of doing
What we
Both of us
Want to
Only to destroy
Destroy
Each other
Down the road
Even so
I can't get you out of my head
I wish
I wish
Things
Were
Different
Different
And that we were different
People
And sometimes
I wish
All we were
Was
Passing
Strangers
On a busy street
Instead of a
Desperate
Almost
And
A hopeful
Maybe