To you my love. The love lost, wandering amaingst many ingulding muses. The love so bitter that it engulfs my very being. My mind is burden with the thought of forgetting you, only to find amazement at the lack of though of you. My minds diseased. Plagued with feelings of remorse and contempt. In that state of paralytic shock, I was ignorant, a bigot to the dependency of another. Never minding my own thoughts was a grave mistake, yet coincidentally, you enabled me to truly psych out my own underlying problems. Thoughts of sitting with my love in the car, driving to the bank to deposit a rather miniscule sized check and watching you drive while listening to rock and roll on the radio. Simple stuff that for some undying reason, I continue to talk about. Conversations that degrade my mental stability. I wasn’t prepared for this, and for that I thank you.

Thank you, my love for enabling the greatest psychologically shifting surprise I had yet then to experience. In greater importance than the memories, lies that same appreciation. I do understand that makes me the guy who really took what he had for granted, but that was me. It still is I suppose, but of course it varies. One day I’ll look back on our relationship with an odd sense of pride, content with the occurances and the duration of your presence in my life. The next I will perceive it all as a huge mistake, almost with regret that I couldn’t have seen things so clearly before. I’m sorry that what I gave you was a selfish love.