There’s something about us. The distance we keep physically brings us closer and closer in the subtlest of ways. The rarity of our rendezvous makes them seem almost illegal. It seems at times we’re forbidden to discover anything more about each other, for fear of losing ourselves completely. She's like the wild wind, a soothing caress one moment, a whirling tempest the next. I know I’m wrong for her. And we know it applies both ways. But that’s the aching irony of it. This apprehension we hold for a future that will never be seems completely foolish at times, yet justifies our very relationship.
It is a relationship after all, this wishing to meet despite not wanting to. The times I’ve berated myself for being too busy, then making the excuse that it means nothing anyway. That it’s only temporary and the feelings will pass. I know that. I’m not in denial, just incapable of accepting it. But that doesn’t mean those stolen moments were worthless. It doesn’t mean the nights spent in silence together were without meaning. In fact it makes the memories more precious. Their rarity is what makes her my muse.
It is a relationship after all, this wishing to meet despite not wanting to. The times I’ve berated myself for being too busy, then making the excuse that it means nothing anyway. That it’s only temporary and the feelings will pass. I know that. I’m not in denial, just incapable of accepting it. But that doesn’t mean those stolen moments were worthless. It doesn’t mean the nights spent in silence together were without meaning. In fact it makes the memories more precious. Their rarity is what makes her my muse.
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