Nothing Deep Enough

I have loved things.

But never enough to want to prove that they are mine.

 

You have studied them.

You know them intimately.

 

While I appreciate them

to you they are old friends.

 

There is nothing I could love enough

to make up for my distance from them.

 

For today, everything is in extremes.

Either I must be fanatical

Or I am nothing to that world.

 

This seems especially true of hobbies I have tried to make my own.

Political activism.

Spirituality.

Personal history.

 

I only lived there for X amount of time….I suppose compared to others it doesn’t really count.

I only love the book not the fandom….others own it more than I do.

 

Everything today must be All

 

or Nothing.

 

I have loved things.

 

To you they are your bedfellows.

To me, they are the stars.

 

Beloved but not mine.

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