There are those whom I can trust and then there are those
Whom I think I can trust
They are two different groups of people
There are those whom I love, and then there are those
Who love me
They are also two different sets
Giving everything to those I love, I am supported by those who love me
And I am innately selfish
For some odd reason, I expect those that I love to give me something in
Return
It leads me nowhere except into brokenness and into
This hollow place in which I find myself
Wishing for more, hoping for something beyond a token
Kiss
A handshake would do almost as well, thank you very much
But that kiss leads me to believe that there’s something else
That I can hope for
But can I?
Can I hope for more?
Or am I once again hoping for that which will not come to pass?
That which has come to pass in the past
When you give yourself to me
And then, and only then, do I truly know that I’m not alone in this world
Otherwise,
I’m just floating along and wondering
Picking petals off of innocent flowers
And asking myself childish questions with each pluck
But I think I know the answer, deep down inside:
No one could, and no one will
Not me, not me, not me
If someone could love me, the way that I want them to
Surely I would have found out by now