You bizarre spectacle, you wondrous thing. I don’t think about you enough. I don’t love you right. Sometimes and not always and that’s our issue. You are relentless, aren’t you? In your ferocity and gentleness alike. There is no grey area within you- just fire and brimstone and clouds and flowers and hope. Thank you. I don’t say that enough either. Look at the things you’ve done. The things you’ve accomplished. You never do. You only look forward with a puzzled stare- hellbent on understanding. But you’re always understanding and never understood. You’re an open book in a forgotten tongue. Free for a price, dedicated for less. Why do you give it all away? And why does it bother me? The world is yours and you turn away. There is no one like you. What does that imply? What is a friendship based on lies? I would tell you to open up but for what? Enough eyes, always looking, always wanting more but settling for your smile and you are sleepy. Tired. A force nature is proud of- she makes it very clear. You are favored. A favorite. Demolition doesn’t have to be scary. You don’t have to be afraid. You’re everything and more. Beyond.
And I’ll meet you there every time.
It’ll always just be us.