My Passions

My passions.
My passions.
I just have to say it a few times. I feel old. I'm 21.
I feel so old and so used and so broken and so disobedient.
It's so grey.
I love so hard; I can't let go.
Tattooed to the underside of my eyelids...
The underside...

I'm infected by his love.
I want to hate her and let her go.
I want this jealousy to NOT make me pray for her.
I want this jealousy to make me cut her off, because I love her.
Where is it?
Virtue is so violent sometimes.
And what is this thing that comes so softly?
Assurance and futures and pain.
My Maker loves so hard. So steadily.
I'll bet that the grout-lines in the tiles under my feet look like ravines to the ants.
And I must be an ant who wants to but can't (see the love that's just ahead of me)
Hmmm.
Oh, the things she's teaching me about me.