I love her. Any efforts against so would be as fruitful as attempting to extinguish the sun. As the tears run down my cheeks compound the fog that no light can penetrate and sting freshly-shaven cheeks, I can see the disparity in what the love between us brings one another. My impaired vision gives me the clarity I’ve needed. She brings me endless joy, the perfect being that one’s entire life is dedicated to finding. I bring her pain, uncertainty, paranoia, apprehension. If only I could find a way to extinguish the sun, she would be happy. The pain that she thinks she has brought me is incomparable to that which my existence brings her.That pain I feel deep, deep down, brings me everlasting joy, since I know that I have finally found that being. Her presence will forever invade my dreams, but she is more welcome there than she could ever be elsewhere. There, our love is perfect, she can stomach it, it doesn’t bring her that pain. May I remove such perfection from my slumber and into consciousness. What could my life be for, but to secure her happiness. I can fathom no other purpose bestowed upon me. I shall be her toy, and take whatever may come in our doomed tryst, for nothing could match that happiness she makes me feel when I am hers, and she is mine. No knife, bullet, or bludgeon would change that, or my mind. Bring whatever may come. I have nothing but love to give her, and it cannot be impeded.