no new information, just my thoughts dressed in rhyme.
since i feel the need to absolve myself of this "crime."
it's not a fucking burger from mcdonald's my dear,
that i picked up for cheap and brought over here.
this thing you call "unhealthy," this way that i care,
didn't grow overnight, it was damaged and repaired.
you say living for someone means losing your spine,
like a program that crashes when cut from the line.
but that's not the code running somewhere in me,
it's not how the system was meant to be.
my life had its colors long before you arrived,
i was breathing, building, stubbornly alive.
i made systems and machines, plastic pieces of time,
kept my hands busy turning grief into design.
but loneliness sits like a wire in the wall,
quiet electricity under it all.
and when someone appears who can see through the noise,
who hears every glitch and error in my voice,
something shifts in the structure, the purpose expands,
suddenly living has somewhere to land.
so when i say i'd move mountains, or give what i can,
it is not surrendering who i am.
it's not erasing myself to make room for you,
it's two lights in a circuit burning brighter as two.
you hear "dependence," a warning, a scar from before,
echoes of someone who closed every door.
and i get why that shadow still sits in your sight,
why devotion can look like a warning light.
but love isn't sterile, detached, or contained,
not some careful equation with variables chained.
it's risk and it's trust and it's saying out loud
that someone can matter enough to be proud.
if someday you're gone, yes, the wound would be deep,
some hollows are promises memory keeps.
scars form slowly, the body adjusts,
time lays its quiet sediment over the dust.
but i'd still rather live with a heart that was true
than one that stayed safe by refusing to choose.
so no, this devotion you keep calling "a flaw"
isn't sickness or weakness, or breaking some law.
and here's the part i struggle to phrase without sound
like i'm begging for something i haven't yet found.
because every time you call this love something "wrong,"
a quiet old doubt starts singing along.
not a new voice, no, just an old one i know,
the same tired whisper i've buried below.
the one that says maybe i'm simply "too much,"
too loud with my care, too intense with my touch.
when it's simply the way that my compass steers,
and life tastes a little sweeter when you're here.