Set the world on fire
Loving you is different. It's not the passive recollected love staggered out over many a feebled year. It's a teenagery besotted love that overwhelms and screams and which I try to tamp back in like gunpowder into a rifle. I balk at the feeling as if there is a piece of it still stuck in my throat unprepared to be completely swallowed. I don't want to give in nor do I feel like entrusting myself to it. I neither speak with coherence or profundity when I try to explain it. It contradicts all the lessons I have learned and confuses me with every turn and yes, how can I deny the suffusal of pleasure and brillance when I am presented with you. I was well aware of that from the beginning even when my blinkered relationship walls were in place. The attraction was deeper than that, hidden beneath a consciousness I was loathe to accept. I wanted you but I would not let myself acknowledge that in any way. Why not? Because the idea of you reciprocating that in any way, even that in just a pure physical intimacy, seemed preposterous. Still seems it, really.