Three in the morning and I am alert, staring at the social abyss that from its mouth spits out your thoughts, your words, your light. Ideal chatter at three in the morning about your love, your destined love and I smile.
I sit and I resist the gnawing at my chest, the unrelenting burn at my heart and yet you can not see. You are blind to my suffering and I smile through clenched teeth, because I want to, because I don't want it to be clear, at least, not yet my love.
Still, you are not all, you are only part of the all. My love, my pain, my life. But you are not, no, not at all. I can live, I can breathe, I can dance and sing and I can inflict and I can spectate. No, you are not, I swear, you're not, my life.
