Loving someone is difficult. It is heart wrenching, soul crushing, and the most addictive habit one can form. The highs sky rocket and the lows bring you to your knees. So I write.
Loving someone is difficult,
no matter which way it goes.
You try your best to be civil, but
find yourself gripping throws.
A moment of weakness interrupts
the measured steps we claim.
And beating hearts seem to erupt
in wanting, sorrow, shame.
Loving someone is difficult;
there always comes a time
when my love seems much heavier
than your love is mine.
My gaze always lasts longer,
my words a bit more sweet.
My hand entwines yours stronger
walking down the street.
To love someone is difficult.
To present your heart anew,
each day a naive offering
beneath the sole of a shoe.
While gazes never seem to target
the beating mass below
still deliver painful blows.
So silently I carry a love heavier than thine,
careful not to show the strain while walking side by side.
I do not wish to burden you with any weight to share,
for what if my love is heavier than any you could bear.