Opposite

I hate being your muse. You make me free in my confinement. You put me in control. You strip life of the concrete.

You hate how absent I am around you. My touch makes your skin sing.

We love addiction. The intensity of the withdrawl symptoms, the beauty of this hideous world.

To disregard the rain. To ignore the sunshine. To feel the colors. To touch the music.

I want to be bright, and new, and shiny and yours.

You want to be free, and ephemeral.

Perfection is painful.