Can I Pick The Way?

There was a soft glow that loved to linger just upon my face; it made me think of you and how I had placed you up on my pedestal of perfection. As the memories fester within my mind, I wonder why you couldn’t kiss me with meaning or have the need to listen. I have basked here far too long to raise my lost hopes within your perpetual secrets.

I see nothing but you, and the ridiculous love I’ve felt for so long. It slithers up on my emotions even after I thought it was limited. It lingers and wishes for more, even after a decade of forgotten kisses. I can’t catch that glimmer in your eye that says you don’t crave me, yet you hold me at a distance; one that you would inevitably perish if you dared to cross. My beating vein does break, every year, every day, every hour, every second you don’t indulge. My mentality wavers every sunset or sunrise; one does race within it and never does win to lose. Why can’t I: pick the way you love me and pick the way you want me.

As you ramble off what I believe by every definition to be the epitome of intelligent and meaningful, I fall relentlessly into unspoiled love. The few instants we steal away together are by far the finest I would ever have the honour of sharing with another. Without exception, I tumble firmly into what I’d call raw devotion where I’d yearn to sleep beneath your wing. Each breath I savour as a sweet melody that blankets the frost the loneliness leaves behind. One beat, two beats, three beats; I count each as a beloved reward given for your enduring journey of complete perfection.

I have perished from this perpetual deception, and the deceit has adopted a circular formation whereas it never does waiver unless I apathetically abandon any notion of reality.

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