Love and Turmoil
I Refuse to Be Consumed — Pt.3
On the changing of the seasons
Her eyes, dark, depthuous, bewitching, breathtaking, quite ineffably wondrous, reflecting of Earth’s natural complexions, truthfully observing, brilliant, beckoning.
Of deep forest green, pale icy blue, brown as the enlivening soil, black as the eternal night.
Every sight, a gift from perception itself.
I lose myself in her gaze, magnificently engulfed, undeserving to be seen.
To rip myself away another time, I’m profoundly unkeen.
Oh, Harrowing Love
It leaves me wistfully, my fervent contempt for love and dependency. I could never say it again, that I hate my love for her.
Was I insane?
Three years I remained longing, berating myself for willing to succumb to the feeling.
No. I had purpose.
I needed to grow, to become healed for her and for me.
Though I couldn’t advance, not in full capacity, so alone on this path.
It was never love which harrowed, but me, the bordering sociopath.
Next in the series—
Or, from the start—
