angels flapping their wings,
like butterflies drowning.
Too much of a good thing,
inspires destruction, inspires immovability.
trapped
in this fantasy of paradise...
I want to know, that when I look you in the eyes,
my gaze will be met
by insurmountable power...
Do I give myself away to you, with every action,
every thought, every skipped heartbeat?
Or do you just pretend
to know something that I don't...
I would be a dispassionate glass house for you...
So you could throw your stones,
and we could both walk away whole.
I could be the butterfly...
and you could be the hurricane
miles away,
dwelling on the what if
that refuses to become
the was.
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