And Yet, I Bide.
I bide in a world where I know I don’t fit.
All shadows and dust, yet I’ve grown used to it.
Darkness, all too real – and all certainty: illusion.
A life, intolerant of my involuntary intrusion.
I find myself only in the moments I am lost.
In sound, I find strength – but at soul-baring cost.
If you existed, my heart’s yearning, I would finally be happy.
If you became real, my absent soul-part, fear would fall away.
But, you don’t.
And you can’t.
And you won’t.
Because you can’t.
So, I tread this glass tunnel, so essentially alone.
Sanguine self-confidence, hiding all my shattered bones.
If the ideal of you could be conjured by song,
Then worlds might alter – I might finally belong.