The Words I Will Speak

Late Night Thoughts on Love and Loneliness

I wonder if love is truly as wonderful as books make it to be
If it is as beautiful to look at as it is to see on the silver screen
If love is such then it must be grand and delightful.
It must be all-consuming, and a woman most probably loses her brightness in it.
Do you lose your character, the independence so rare?
I haven't felt it, so thus there is no fault in questioning or in assumption?
But I admit I am incorrect to judge others in love.
My fear of love is it irrational or crazed? A product of trauma.
Though I fear to love, there is a greater fear of loneliness.
Of death arriving when I lay in a bed a dank empty house built around it.
If I am to die alone, then alone I should be all my life,
As such I will be in some comfort with the habit and commonness of it.
Love is strange it engulfs dreams and logical rationale.
It seems to blind and impair those it infects. Oblivion may come when it wishes.
And what if I do get the pleasure (displeasure?) of feeling love,
Will I become lesser and fall to the association of a partner?
If I love both a man and a woman in my life, for which to I settle for?
To be feeling is painful, but walls make me and you inhuman.
To be human is to feel pain, witness the destruction it brings upon oneself.
If I err in my thinking than I am human nonetheless – or maybe a semblance of one.
Couldn't be simpler to swear it off, love, and its grand Lethe that comes in the morrow?
Take offense to this writing if you are profoundly diagnosed with the illness of love
But I am just in contemplation, this is a study of my thoughts.