On the Evidence of Where You Belong

     You have eyes that lead me on, so don’t ever try to forget how happy you make me because I’m not going to let you anyway. It’s comparable with how I’m not ever going to allow you to forget how much I love you, or loved you if things don’t stay put within our perfect symmetry. But they damned well should if I’m anything to be afraid of.

     I don’t announce going with my gut feeling as if it were virtuous; it’s just not. I inherently follow my instincts and if you want me to peer into the hollow to quiz my nature on what I’m feeling, I’ll decipher my glimpses right now: you are unable to escape me because my mind has completely encompassed my collective theory of you. That’s all I’ll ever need as long as you keep providing me with new evidence of how you are much more amazing than anyone I have ever met. Don’t worry; you unknowingly (mind)fuck me ’til we know it’s unsafe. Painting over the evidence is the least I can do because I know you’re not just what you say to me.