It’s perplexing to define you. But still I will mumble. I will try.
I stare at you.
I tend to you.
I’m often inconvenienced by your existence. Your constant presence.
What are you?
Are you a wound that will never heal?
Are you a beautiful yet strange rose that will always live?
Depends on the day.
Depends on the hour.
Depends on the moment.
Perhaps it also depends on my bitter intolerance or my overwhelming gratitude for you.
The life you give me.
A different life I will never know.
I should adopt you.
I should accept you.
I should spit out the hideous aftertaste. The venom left behind from the life I once imagined.
The dull life in which I envisioned lists coming true.
A boring, comfortable thoughtless existence. Barely a fingerprint. No wake left behind me.
You make me think.
You beg me to feel.
Your thorns protect me.
You are my rose.
I can’t show you to the world but I know you exist.
Your beauty is disguised in loss, uncertainty, mortality and pain.
You are fragile. And so am I.
Your truth lives in the eyes of many.
The ones I see while others pass by.
The ones I can’t stop thinking about.
The ones I can’t stop feeling for.
All of the shame made me wiser.
All of the pain made you stronger.
You will never die.
Because of you,
I will always live.