It is so very frustrating, makes one almost want to scream - petulantly, childishly even - that it is a deeply unfair world when the one you most want to speak to, to be with, is the very one you can't.
Particularly when calling out to you is not so much the thing I cannot do (of course one always can) but the very thing one shouldn't. For, one should try not to forget that - even as it might pain one to do so - words are missiles that explode in your somatic being.
Where sending them out might cause damage, even bring ruin;
and keeping them in, be catastrophic.
I suppose one might say you helped send me on a path towards the beautiful, opened in me the possibility of catching a glimpse of beauty -
three stepson the ladderof writhing
Gjør som tusenvis av andre bokelskere
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