There is a perverse pleasure in wanting the
object of your innermost desire, your
most reticent thought, knowing that
it is immeasurably unattainable much
like the candescence of a (candle) flame
in utter darkness - its light a gilded brilliance
but only (barely) reaching those that are
closest to it.
The hypnotic cadence of that flame,
effortless and surreal, luring your especial
self towards the pleasing promise of
its light and warmth, but in essence, only
serves to augment the certitude of the
darkness which surrounds you.
😏
©dead_poet
D