There is no greater feeling than love, and being in love, and being loved equally in return.
There is no greater curse than feeling love, and being in love when the love is not equally returned.
A whispered desire, like a flame that burns bright, is squelched in the night as words aloof rain down.
No one shall know this love, so deep and pure, the depths greater than the Marianas Trench, and its pressure and power like a crush, a sickness, an obsession...
No mind meld can suffice, no heart listened to intently, no adoration returned to fill the night.
Alone she goeth, alone she follows, alone she sleeps it off.
No one shall ever know her true touch, the places hidden as a wellspring...
Wasted in the days gone by, on men one at a time who never cared enough to know it.
And never will. No one will. It is impossible.
No greater feeling than love in a loop, cycling around between souls.
No greater curse than its potential never known.
It is hard to feel and yearn for things so intimate when it is lost in a shallow wading pool.
Incapable of depth, he roams simplistic, in fear of deep water.
Alone she dives, and finds no one at the bottom, but herself.