crap.

I've tried to hate you,
or at least find faults in you,

but after all this time,
all I seem to be able to do

is love you.

my love.

My love for you
is punctured by apathy.
It is pricked with careless words,
littered with doubts.

My love for you is scattered
among others, more charming and beautiful.
It is clouded by unrealistic ideals
and obscured by selfish desires.

My love is not boundless:
measurable but unmeasured.
It is not endless,
and yet it endures.

My love is imperfect:
withheld for so many reasons, in so many ways.
But although I am broken, hopelessly broken,
you fill in my cracks and I seep into yours.

And two flawed beings
stumble along as one.

Lilly.

Lilly: more fiction now than fact.
Lilly: a flood in my brain.
Lilly: an idea, an enduring concept.
Lilly: the prototype.
Lilly: the whispering heart.
Lilly: the unexpected beginning and the unattainable end.