Untitled.

My self-esteem could start from a small place and gather up quickly.
Hardening with each experience until what remains isn't any good any how.

But before I get there, I could just watch the sunset with everyone else's lover.
I stopped denying myself certain kinds of lusts or relationships and chose to live in the moment but after being devoured whats left is a certain kind of bitter.

Should my consciousness change and I feel no remorse for allowing certain credits to evolve, getting older does it no justice.

Because having a degree, and being well-read, and taking care of myself, and arriving at self efficacy is no match for vulnerability, deceit or the complex notion of being in love.
Knowing that when we touched each other there was not just flesh, there was also a spirit of unity. A spirit that was special, rare...

But thats not who I am.
I don't have time to repair the potholes of shame anymore.
I don't have the time to really patch up the feelings of loss.
I went to the pharmacy to get some gauze to cover my wounds, especially the self inflicted ones.

And after years of knowing exactly where the joys of intimacy eclipsed me, I choose not to worry about the moral conundrum of certain kinds of lust and infatuation because those things will never really be hard. It will never be too difficult to experience some sort of joy. It is what I can claim.

Should you be rewarded an impervious love, thank God you are not doomed to wander alone.
You were able to escape the erosion of you and all the things that make you, you.
Time built you a house, paid the mortgage and designed nothing but shelter for your head.
You should stay there.