Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark.
Okay. I’ve altered. So shoot me. You still have to love me. It’s the rules. Didn’t you go to the school of Shakespeare?
I noticed I was the only one there. I hoped you were invisible… like everyone else.
I knew you weren’t there. But I felt you coming. It’s the reason I checked out of the school of Shakespeare. I had to find you. I had to.
Too much literature and romance can screw a person up.
Now you’re here and I don’t know how to deal with you. I guess you’re love. I’ve been in the dark for so long; maybe my eyes can’t see anymore? ...is that you? Then I retreat to my friend…darkness. (He’s a bastard, by the way.)
You’re smarter then me. Not in the classic sense, the streetwise sense.
I run away. You tolerate this. It’s a ridiculous habit. I don’t want to repeat this mistake. But I do because there is something you don’t know about me.
Something I’m trying to say…
Okay, I’ll just say it. The only reason I feel like I’m alive at ALL is because I became good, a long time ago, at keeping an emotional distance. “I don’t care what you do, do whatever, it’s nothing to me. You can’t hurt me.”
That’s my Motto.
I don’t feel that way anymore. Still, I want my Motto back. It’s hiding under the couch, down the ally or beneath the bed…I can’t find it. You keep cleaning my house so my Motto is running out of places to hide.
When you come back, Motto, things are going to be different around here.