when i hoped you weren't reading this, because i had enveloped much of my insecurity into a blog about you

love is such a transient word, flowing with the wind, or time. there is no forming the formless ideal. however, i've arrived on the (temporary) conclusion that if one thinks one feels love, then one does. because, if god is the greatest conceivable being--according to st. anselm--then should not love be the greatest conceivable feeling? it would be given, then, that once one feels their greatest conceivable feeling, then one feels love.

if it is so, then i have loved you.

i won't take a pencil to my past and say it never was so. it was. we were in love.

but now i face a clash of "es muss sein"s and "it can be"s. in this train, speeding towards a cliff that is graduation, i would expect it to be normal that the passengers make hasty decisions and pour their souls all over the floor, hoping to stain something, someone, to be preserved after the collision. such is my mind. do i love, do i dare? do i love, must i love? it feels like my brain is irrupting with lust, guilt, and fear; it's this vichyssoise of emotions that stinks of indecisiveness, and i don't want to be the one on the train who dies while stumbling over what his last words will be.

on one hand, i am as much of a lover as i am of a thinker, as much as an emotional surgeon as i am a poet. i want to carry out unresolved emotions--be them either juvenile or to no virtuous ends--for the sake of making the first surgical incision; revealing what lies beneath the surface, illuminating.

on another, inherent in my faux solipsism is the utter solitude of mind, and i need to feel Sartre's bad faith to combat that isolation. for nights i seek to exist as "the one you love", and not as my self.

(it is a weakness i will never verbally admit: that i am ever weary of the existentialist life i have devoted myself to and that that weariness poses itself as love.)

i don't know if i love you. i don't know if you love me. and the times don't permit me to find out. i have to move on, i have to move on.

i only wish i could, and that i could tell you.