008, My Curse
I concede now that my curse is that I shall always be loved, yet fail to love.
To dream those things which are so close to reality that they seem almost trivial to think of in such terms.
To grow sick when idle, and obsess with productive.
To create beauty, and hide it from the world.
And to know what I want, yet fail to come to terms with the fact that it might not exist...
How long then does one search for something that may never be obtained?