It’s crushing; a deadweight,
Not always felt, but definitely always there,
A taunting voice at the edge of your mind,
Reminding you, constantly, insistently;
You’re alone and this time it’s different.
You’re alone and yet you yearn for someone.
Someone who may not exist,
Someone you cannot have.
A yearn for perfection; a dangerous thing.
And the knowledge that perfection may not exist…
That is what inevitably brings the pain.
A useless, powerless, helpless pain.
Radiating through your heart, muscles, cells,
Exiting through the quiet tears, the silent thoughts,
The endless wonder of what could be.
There are people who could relieve the loneliness,
But none of them are the person you seek,
None of them are the perfection you have imagined,
And so none of them fit the bill.
They don’t live up to expectations.
They are left, ignored, abandoned.
A yearn for perfection is a dangerous thing.
It’s a strong grip, and a harsh reality.
And so impossible to ignore.
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