It's difficult to begin because I don't really see a starting point. But I think - no, I guess I know - your affection has decayed into bored tolerance of me. It hurts to say, to speak it into the open, but I imagine it's true; Although my warmth for you is unwavering as always, that much is true. I'm not prepared to step in front of a locomotive, declaring my undying love and the wretchedness of the unfairness of it all. I don't want to frighten or torture your dreams with the thought or even the smallest prospect that I am madly and possessively in love with you. Contrary to the apparent outward appearance, I'm not obsessed or more than taken, I just enjoy the time and the company shared, and the rare and occasional spontaneous body language we have - that 'sometimes on a blue moon' sort. But in earnest and burning honesty, you never ask anymore - whether to visit, to go anywhere with me, to kiss me with your hands on my face, or to slip between and inner. I am totally the business person now, always asking you, to visit, to go, to kiss and touch and usually the between and inner. But 9-out-of-ten, not good odds at all, you falter and I see it before the question mark is even at the end of my enquiry. You don't care to visit, or go, to kiss or touch, or even the rarer still, between and inner. Still I ask and yet still you answer accordingly. Poor, poor dipthong grace, you'd think the git, the iddy girl would know better. But she can't, she's such a Libra and even in her black Spade heart, a Phoenix of hope twists and burns and bites, with teeth like razor-wire, Star hot. And poor sketchy grace iddy girl, smiles and forgives, even as another piece of her dies. It's always been her way, always will be. And sometimes you laugh that 'damn straight bitch' way but is it truly a joke? Or is the joke me? And it occurs to me, poor grace, if you know the way your smile can lift an iddy girl from grey places to amazing grace only to crush her closed not even a moment later - with no visit, no go, no kiss and touch, and don't even think of between and inner, grace. Then again, I'm no amazing grace, I'm just an iddy girl, and you never ask anymore, but the Phoenix embers in the black heart nest. Your affection decayed into bored tolerance. You never ask.
