ALL I HAVE LEFT TO GIVE IS LOVE

Rumination is a disease and I have fallen victim to its taste. There were arbitrary and glue to the scheme, adolescence in love. 

But I was distant now, never dimmed but a light to the toggle. How when I spoke it fell into a void. And for breakneck. I never asked for flowers or deliverance, maybe a calm before the storm. How the wallpaper was plastered in fake illuminance of idiocracy and belief, and how I'd ask God for forgiveness if I settled into a shell.   

This all set the stage for what was really in store, how I could never look her in the eye even if I batted. It wasn't pain but truly facing who I had become in lieu of her. Knowing the intersection of belief and truth. No matter what she’ll still stand in that image. The one I couldn't bear. All I got was seldom cries of recognition. The cry for change. How it was never about me, but about us. Through the dam of my memory and retracing the steps, I was never repulsive, but full over altitude only to steer straight down into the ground. I settled into someone else's grave for addiction. That was the toll. Where the distance became too loud for her to bear, where I almost became nothing in resolution. 

She would always still be there and that was my first mistake. Maybe my only one. “Pain is a puzzle” they would say. But did we ever think to piece them together? It's where she thought she could seal the deal with love, as it prevails any and all, through each breath stroke, each passage of time. Knowing she would wait. And all these run on sentences left space in between the dimensions of an arbour. As I built a tower in your memory and literacy to your craft. I have nothing more to give.