But I felt it anyway

I would have loved to have you break my heart.

Caution, I am no fool.

I know your intentions. I know what lies ahead. I know it is a barren terrain. But that never really mattered in the presence of such affection.

I would have chosen to love you unconditionally.

Like a moth, I cannot help but be attracted by the flames.

Several rounds of gut-wrenching pain did not rid me of this desire to burn.

I think I could have loved you so intensely and so epically; a face like yours inspires such ferocity.

I think I could have let you shatter my heart to a million pieces, and I would have been content gathering those pieces.

I think those lips of yours, although never touched mine, are so tender and soft.

I believe it to be true with the faith of a pious who has never seen the face of God.

I think depriving us both of the honey our lips could have created might be the most regrettable act a penitent like me has committed.

I might be a bit mad to have willingly walked into perishment several times with such resolve and gusto.

Madder still, to long to perish for you.

Trust me, it is not about you or what you could feel for me, but it is about the feelings I could have had for you.

It is about the poetry that could have been inspired by you.

It is about the trance that would have left me in ruins. And how I crave those ruins.

But I don't have that in me anymore.

There is no heart left to break and no skin left to burn.

I can no longer tolerate the pain of an unachievable love.

It never was, but I felt it anyway.