your fastidious nature dissolves me. i want them to know it is not kind to me. it is not kind to my end of this bargain that has us in a incessantly taxing bondage. it has been called whiplash what i feel, and it might as well be. this ink bleeds into my fingers in the place of your comfort, drips red onto these pages like my veins have been filled with the unwanted effects of you. this premature desire to be wanted has tainted my soft, loving palette. i argue i do not know what love is at this age in order to stop thinking of you. but your fastidious nature dissolves me.
love knows me.
