It is difficult to be in love with you. A constant unceasing siege on my self. To fight. To keep going. They lie softly when they say love makes you a better person. That's not the whole truth. They never tell you how violent that change is. How every day feels like I am in a brawl with the rest of the world. And their words.
It is difficult to be in love with you. Because you cannot put down your arms and ask for a moment. It's all one big massacre, of lies, of misconceptions, of presumptions that others force feed us. I cannot say that today, I am inconvenienced by the idea of fighting for us so I will rather rest. That will never do.
It is difficult to be in love with you. It leaves no space for cowardice. Or doubt. Or the benefit of allegory. Just simple, cold, absolutes. You. I. Time. Just hard cut entities, coming together. Building something. Building themselves. No one told me, sometimes, being an architect of a story is both, romantic and exceedingly cruel.
It will always be very difficult to be in love with you. There will be days when it will drag me to edge of surrender. Then again, love makes killers of us all, one way or another. So that's what we will be. Seems like a lovely thing to be, by your side.