You have delivered me from myself,

Returned my echo  with a sweet sincerity,

That I do not deserve.

Through no fault of my own,

I might add:

No soul deserves what you can give,

For the gift is too great,

That balance is illusory.

When winter descends and bundles others up,

I swim in the warmth of nostalgia,

Reminiscing the struggle of digging up the courage to whisper:

Je ne peux pas être mais je t’aime.”

Sideways glances revealing coy smiles,

Leapt out like tethers,

Holding me closer to you,

Than I deserve.


I’ll still contest that it isn’t my fault:

Because try as I might,

I could never be deserving of your light.

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