It stabs

…like a wound inflicted by an enemy, in distaste, not in haste but slowly, as if the longer the torture, better the torment.

Why should I be trapped such? Shall peace never be mine again? Must I spoil something that doesn’t even exist yet?

If laughter I could have and a little warmth perhaps I shall be heartened. But is this too fantastical?

And what if it is? Would you rather I lost my sanity looking over barriers just to catch a glimpse of the bridge of a nose or the top of a head? Must I constantly filter out his voice from all the noise and down the temptation to look his way?

All it really takes to keep my day ticking is a glance, an acknowledgement, of knowing that he sees me. Does that make me desperate or just plain pathetic?

If only he knew. .. how he stabs me all day long.


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