love

there's so much to say,
and nothing at all.

speculation is pointless,
and so are the visions that haunt me when i look at you.

you don't need me on your conscience.
and i don't need you on mine.

...the little lies i tell the part of myself that always wants a little more. the strumpet who's never content with just one.

there are so many dull, inconsequential meetings in life. it's a shame to waste the ones that could mean something more.

...that doesn't mean i don't enjoy monogamy. i do.
but i have a lot of love to give.
i want to share. it's a compulsion.

sometimes, one person's not enough to hold it all.

it'd be invigorating to have the freedom to say, "wait for me a moment, please, while i love this person a little closer to divinity. i'll be back directly. i promise."

i don't break my promises. i would return--and allow you to love as necessary in the meantime.

i'm sure it would only happen once every few years, at most.

but who could stand that?

i have learned that most people have just enough love for themselves--if that--and that, sometimes, they're able to squeeze out enough for the mates that come along. or the children that come along the way.

a paucity of love makes beings selfish, insecure. believers in lack.

i hate that fact profusely. it limits my movement in the world.