Four words to describe what you are to me
Are: butterflies; sufficient; strong and synchronicity.
Knowing and accepting. As solid as the sea.
Scary-scared as much as I am. Ultimately free.
Knowing me and finding you makes sense in all the right ways.
But this much darkness multiplied may only leave us both crazed.
It's risky to adore you, does this way lie more pain?
but just being in your presence throws my caution to the rain.
Calming and unnerving, your subdermal inhalations
see more than I would ever show in normal situations.
I know this dreary outlook is not born but miscreated.
How did you end up like me? What miseries were fated?
I want to be myself with you, the one I always was.
You give be back my dignity, you give me back my buzz.
Knowing it's requited is a new challenge to face.
It's usually a mystery. It's usually a race.
Am I prepared for this connection?
This can't be yet more misdirection
But is madness apace?
Apace? Afoot! I've lost my words!
No more emanuensis,
but me again. I've found myself,
a clumsy, care-full priestess.
I love the smell of morning-you,
of you in cogitation.
I love the way you hold your face, your love of information.
I want to know your everything,
I want to let you know me.
But will this knowledge burn us both?
Or will it set us both free?
Are: butterflies; sufficient; strong and synchronicity.
Knowing and accepting. As solid as the sea.
Scary-scared as much as I am. Ultimately free.
Knowing me and finding you makes sense in all the right ways.
But this much darkness multiplied may only leave us both crazed.
It's risky to adore you, does this way lie more pain?
but just being in your presence throws my caution to the rain.
Calming and unnerving, your subdermal inhalations
see more than I would ever show in normal situations.
I know this dreary outlook is not born but miscreated.
How did you end up like me? What miseries were fated?
I want to be myself with you, the one I always was.
You give be back my dignity, you give me back my buzz.
Knowing it's requited is a new challenge to face.
It's usually a mystery. It's usually a race.
Am I prepared for this connection?
This can't be yet more misdirection
But is madness apace?
Apace? Afoot! I've lost my words!
No more emanuensis,
but me again. I've found myself,
a clumsy, care-full priestess.
I love the smell of morning-you,
of you in cogitation.
I love the way you hold your face, your love of information.
I want to know your everything,
I want to let you know me.
But will this knowledge burn us both?
Or will it set us both free?
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