For B, who gets paid too much to just read my blog...
How I hate you and this pain you cause me.
I was living my life, content enough and you just had to come along.
Tantalizing me with the possibilities of what could be.
And with you, anything could be. You are perfect in every way, untainted by reality.
You will never fight or ignore me, I will always be perfection in your eyes (once you see me).
You will always remember those special days, and I'll always have time for you.
I will bask in your adoration, knowing that I will never falter.
To you I am perfect, and you are all I have ever wanted and never knew.
If only you could see me.
If only you were real.
If only you weren't potential.
If only I could ignore you and this pain you cause me.
But I can't.
And I won't.
I'll embrace every heart wrenching, stomach-churning, head-splitting thought of you,
And what we could be.
I'll close my eyes every night to dream you into reality,
and wake up mourning your departure.
I'll cry that I never had you; bemoan that you're not mine.
Your best is what I hate most, your weaknesses what I crave.
How could you not see what you conjured into being, without thinking of what would come next?
For you, my Unrequited Love, are what I had missed all along.
I will not cure this pain you have given me, for it is all I have
of the potential that will never be.
This, my dear, is perfection.