A Letter to Love in Passing


There are sometimes I think you were dealt a bad hand, there are also
times I think God withheld a hand for you altogether, yet still
expected you to play the game. Doomed from the start, taken
advantage of at every turn. You are rough around the edges,
because you are only made of edges. Surfaces smooth; never
time enough to make, as erosion's force is slow, and you never
worked that way. Misplaced, under-diagnosed, and forgotten; then,
remembered again just to be forgot once more. Perspective, you
must be limited for him. I cannot even write your name correctly
without feeling inextricably attached and responsible in some way.
So I conceal your name with tricks and mirrors. I see the bygone
potential in you, in fact, some remains! I beg you to see it a new
way,look through my lens. Stay as you are, just see it my way,
through my lens. It kills me to see you now, yet I do not mind the
idea. And, although you are more Ill now than you'll ever be, I
want to blame you vocally.
Do you even know how you screwed
up yet? Even since we've met, you cast the possibilities aside
for pleasures of the flesh.
But who is responsible?!
You are just bearing the fruit of the men that made you, bad men.
There was never room for you to bloom. Like a seed planted in foul
soil.
I want big blooms for you still, and hope homeostasis finds you soon

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