Nothing causes me as much unrest as locked doors
In my life that have no keys.
My love has become a silhouette.
I wish I could feel/have felt the shape of the dark things that swim in your head that build and escape as cruelty.
I wish I could sew/have sewn my shadow to yours and fill/have filled you with light
And break/have broken the walls that seem so impervious to love.
I’m sorry for my vacancy.
I’m sorry for the disappointment that swept over your life when your infatuation with me burnt out as quickly as it sparked. I’m sorry
That I could not be less volatile. I’m sorry but I don’t know why.