So we speak of romance for now. I am torn in two. Half hoping you would find me again on this social network and you'd take my hand and heart to where you'd keep them safe. Forever, by far, shall you be mine since September's end. There's another half where a division of many speaks tales of their very own. First, I'm hoping you'd notice me where communication can be held, and actually practicing a conversation with me. I stare at the status of your appearance on the Internet, green it reflects, signalling the best of hopes. Speak to me, please. Two, dare you play me around with an orientation so confused I'm tortured myself from unidentified gestures. Leave me, I have enough as you can see. You alone see pain in my eyes accurately enough to throw a question leading me embarrassed to answer. I can't with you and you know so well why. Three, my heart no longer plays the truth of trust. I've long abandon all hopes on the race of doubt. Yet I speak with such contempt to it, yet my heart fails to pretend it doesn't long for, or crave what it needs. It needs everything that can be summarized in the above.
