to love at all.

it taunts me.
haunts me.
tries to whisper in my ear.
tell me of the depth and realness,
of which I'm not a part.
I've chosen a path,
and I'd like to walk it.
For some time at least.
All this..it's overated.
Past its due date of destruction.
These smiles, and promises.
Most of which, empty,
those? I'll have no part.
You speak of realness, deepness,
of love you say,
irrevocable.
The past screams 'no',
the present talks a 'one day'.
and the future, struggles to whisper a barely audible
'try'.
So my thoughts, my past, present, and future
they argue in my head,
and i lie awake,
in bed.
Making cliche ryhmes and
sorry excuses.
One day, the layer will be shed
the one unconsciously being carried.

"There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternate to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only one place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all dangers and perturbations of love is hell. "

C.S. Lewis.