I don’t know how to love a little.
What is this not giving all of myself?
What is this lack of complete, bittersweet immersion – this absence of a smothered love, this freedom you speak of that love gives?
I don’t understand.
For me to choose love is to choose it all, and always – a stream flowing into a river flowing into oceans of depth beyond the limits of passion and into forevers.
But then
But then
My heart
It gets heavy like a boulder tied to a feeble ankle of reality
And I drown.