so terribly:
I smiled
when aloof was the thing to be;
felt passion
shut my mind from its' futility;
I have craved
what I forbid my tongue to speak of;
I have believed
tales of fairies and men to me whispered;
In the mist I have hoped to see, in vain.
What is more pointless, forbidden, aloof or horribly hopeless a thing
than love?
Signed, I, foolish, living as though it wasn't
Loving as though those weren't the rules,
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