THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
My heart is split in two. And while I'd like to say the love affair is over, I fear it's just begun...
'The survivor', 'the happy beggar', 'the wistful romantic'... The only name I could give myself was 'the exhausted narrator'. I stood in a room with framed pornography, a slightly intoxicated catholic and several pseudo intellectuals, the night terrors, and I feel a little sad for all the more interesting people I used to be.
The truth is, I believe, it all adds up on itself, a hundred bad outfits all at once until it's a little hard to walk around- So impossibly honed by your own impossibly stupid life that no one could possibly get near.
It was love, it was always love, I knew it and I know you, all I have to do is find you now-