Your gaze once filled with adoration and love now sears me with scorn.
When you grab me, your fist is a very real lump at my throat.
I don’t know what to say.
You speak, but I cannot make out your words.
I am more concerned with the grimace your mouth has rearranged itself into.
And your lips actually tremble with barely contained anger.
I am not afraid of you, of your rage.
I am only afraid that I will still love you after you are done.
Love is a funny fleeting thing
One moment you’re in it
Knee deep
You reek of it
And you think
“I’ll never be able to wash this off…”
But then one day it rains
Your vision clears
And you’ve been cleaned
There’s no hint of love now
Not a trace in the humid air
And you are left standing
Alone
In dewy eyed wonder
Confessions of a Thinkaholic 