Is our shared time ineffectual?
Is this an unrecognised personal fault?
Or is it you, avoiding an insect on your bedroom wall; one you can see but isn’t a great enough threat to remove...
Or perhaps my very voice drains the life from your veins? Is it that simple?
Is it the flurried silences, in which invisible desires of soulful interaction thrive?
Do they ironically become the demise of our time together?
Is it that I have not yet found a like-minded soul? Or am I ill?
Is possessing a higher consciousness a step in the right direction?
Or does it cause such hindrances in the first place?
It will seem to indefinitely remain a wonder, for confrontation is often too great a chore.