everyone and everything i encounter lives under the mask of your projection. i’m convinced nothing will fill the space.
you’re truly one of a kind: it’s just a fact of human existence. i’m convinced that’s not a bad thing.
and maybe i’ve written “i hate you” 100 times and maybe i’ve erased “i hate you” 99 of those times but even that 1 remaining means nothing compared to my constant, actual, tangible outpourings of love. i’m convinced nothing will distract my feelings.