I can't do this anymore. I can't stand this. Not being able to hold you like I could. Your arms not holding me like I wish they would, but know they never will. If you could hold me close, would you quiet this fear? Keep me still, give me peace. You could make me smile, give light to these dying eyes. You, making me laugh, your eyes sparkling with warmth. But you leave me cold. Cold like ice, melting in your warm hands, so near to your warm heart. Cold, like death in a still winter morning's sunshine. My death - pure, sweet death, in the sunshine of your love. My death in your eyes, through your beautiful words, with which you are killing me, unknowingly. Yes, undoubtedly, you are killing me, softly, through your sweet words and with your sweet voice. I have not chosen love. Rather, love has chosen me. Cruel and bitter, love's arrow has struck, wounding me beyond recovery. Irreversible pain. But I would not escape this pain. No, I would feel this pain forever if it meant being close to you. You are near, and though I know you are near, I cannot see you. And so my words fail me. Stumbling, stuttering, fragmenting while I try to ignore your breathing, pay no attention the steady beat of your heart, in time with the unsteady faltering of my own. For whom does your heart beat, dear one? Surely, not for me. Not for all my love, concealed within my laughter. Not for all the caring, the worry, in such plain sight; can you see, in my eyes? But my heart; oh, this heart. This heart beats for you, only you. And though you cannot see, though you will never know, this will not change.