The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.


You cannot know what the sadness in you does to me,

the same way that you cannot know the

heat of the jealousy your sadness enkindles.

Who is the fool so lucky to have you as a possible





And turn it away? For what?

I would forsake all I have, to hold that momentary gleam in your eye

which makes someone else’s poor judgment

something that hurts you so

and reminds me that no matter how much I am entwined by you

it will always be by limbs invisible to one of us.

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