The Anatomy of My Thoughts = Rowan-ism

Here I sit consumed in gray, It seems the haze won't drift away.   To you I dare not to say, In grief and sorrow I will pay.   I must learn this arduous lesson, May you hearken my confession My heart's burden it will lessen Should you pardon my transgression Till I find what it is I seek, 'Tis with you I wish to speak   To tell you, I'm sorry,  I was weak.

His soul was so achingly brave in its readiness to love. In his choice to see the beautiful soul in a world enveloped in malignance. To subject his entirety to potential devastation is an act not many can attest to. Some believe that to love is to be happy, Yet where is the joy in allowing one's life to spin into turmoil? Love is selfless, Like an plague, it seeps into his normal, infecting every crevice of his life. Like an addict he derives a decadence unlike no other,  from devoting his existence to another  Love is selfish