Hatred of myself abounds.
while tears burn my eyes.
My reeling mind
has insisted on calling a friend, my lover.
I scream with anguish at myself.
I’ve never wanted any one to be such to me.
I do not know what or who a lover is.
Yet, I pursue in calling a friend by such a name.
It is despicable!
He did not ask for such torment to be brought upon him!
I am sorry, for I do not know what I say, especially in this state of mind.
Poor friend, who or what has made you the object of the confusion of my spirit?
How and why did I give you such a name as a lover or beloved so hastily?
Or has this been boiling in me for sometime?
Even so, a name such as lover or beloved seems so messy, so confusing, and insanely mysterious.
For I have no idea what anyone means when they call someone lover or beloved?
Except, I suppose it might be an accurate title for you now,
because if lover or beloved is one who is unknown or mysterious, you are to me.
And this feeling inside of me, that encompasses my whole being, is not understandable.
Will you ever become my friend?
Can the universe that exists inside of me embrace you?