Unrequited

Unrequited is when you give and you have given so much, you forget to take.

Unrequited is when requiting shows the glint of its edge. Requiting is to return the feeling of love, of honesty, of sincerity. Requiting is also to avenge the lost of love, of honesty, and of sincerity.

Unrequited makes you a fool for always giving and asking nothing in return. And by proffering a hand to the body of sorrow, we leave ourselves a hollow.

Unrequited is always the music - the clown dances the aleatoric steps of chance. It provides the impetus for a mask of pain, of joy, of lies and deceit. It will never reveal the organs of pure affectivities. The music refuses virisimilitude.

Unrequited will give one thing - tears. Whatever you see, wherever you see, always, always a gossamer of what could-have-been. Of what may-have-been, will never be.

Unrequited bars the soul in a chain of its own stupidity. It tightens the chest till there is but a breath of agony that escapes the lips. And those chains will circle around the neck, arms and thighs till a silver of blood glistens beautifully against the skin.

Unrequited is the basis of my existence. I thrive in its sadistic charm. I live the odour of its malaise. I don't know why. I can't help it. It always just seems to be the reason for all that I endeavour. In love, in hate, in sorrow, and in wretchedness. Always, always, unrequited.