How wonderful is it to have long stares cradle your facial features, to notice and for a flicker of a second understand that you've been noticed.
For someone to pick up and treasure pieces of yourself that you've forgotten you've left behind.
Everyday I yearn for love to reach me, but I cannot fathom enduring myself to senseless torture.
Loneliness, I find, can cloud the mind with hysterical dreams of things that only ever 'could' be, but never 'will' be.
The likes of love seemingly far and rare.
To mistake indulgence with grand gesture and make yourself a fool in the face of wholesome desire, it's the very reason reverie will stay a hopeless dream.
However, the idea of love is dear to me, and I will defend it.
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