I wrote a poem that looks like you, with those lines of your “I want more.” For love is your voice, and it lives in the silence it leaves behind. Infinity never silences me — if I have love, I always give it to you, without wanting myself anymore. All that story of loving you, and that my scream is not enough, and here I am, mad from screaming, hoarse from loving you. All that story of loving you, and that my scream is not enough, and here I am, mad from screaming, hoarse from loving you. Unraveling into the abyss within, running from oneself, losing oneself. Undoing everything once built, as if no longer the same, erasing one’s own name. Being from other lands, other seas, other lives, other children. Being another, yet being yours. Losing oneself, yet finding oneself by being another. And loving you again, as if not the old character — but love itself being. Because love is infinite and eternal. All that story of loving you, and that my scream is not enough, and here I am, mad from screaming, hoarse from loving you. All that story of loving you, and that my scream is not enough, and here I am, mad from screaming, hoarse from loving you. Being from other lands, other seas, other lives, other children. Being another, yet being yours. Losing oneself, yet finding oneself by being another. And loving you again, as if not the old character — but love itself being. Because love is infinite and eternal.
