i think about her constantly. i do not wish to, but it’s helpless. it’s inescapable. suffocating. there is something in me unknown which commands me. paralyzed, though in paradox, because my mind is constantly undulating but fixed on that inevitable dreaming. i find my desiring nonsensical, yet something in me refuses the frail illusions as such. at times i feel as though i have emptied my entire being and refilled it with only her--my veiled madness, my mystery, my impenetrable muse.