Worship

I think you are far too worried about my infatuation with you.

You constantly ask for divine signs of affection and devotion. We go through cycles waiting for the days that turn into months of unrest and endless energy. When I feel elated and can drag you up to my level. Things only get uncertain when I'm unable to get out of bed, but don't think for a second that you have left my mind. I meant exactly what I said when I gave you letters that formed words of pure adoration. Even when I am at my worst you remind me that there must be some form of divine inspiration flowing through the places in my brain that were previously filled with thoughts of evaluation and logical reasoning. I think meeting you let my thoughts flow freely.

I'm forced to reason with my brains natural dip in excitable buzzing. When the high ends I still have to be a close enough version of me to make sure the lows aren't affecting those I love. As someone who was young these dissapearing acts were written off as attention seeking but now as I stand as your discple we are recokening with the inveitible pattern that this has turned into. I can't drop off the face of the world when the light is gone because you will find me. Of course, as someone who cares deeply about my worship, I will let you.

These extremes only meet in a middle ground of reckless behavior and creativity. A schedule not worth keeping. An undying devotion to friends, lovers, and family alike. A version of the world in my head that at times can be entirely untrue. A book of love poems dedicated to who I see you as, and a dialogue in my head of all the ways you could be lying. It will forever be a language barrier between me and you. The divine and the devoted, I don't think I could begin to explain your own godhood to you, and I can't explain my own inferiority in a way that doesn't seem self-inflicted.

We play of game of roles until I feel stable, less like a disciple and more like an equal.

I love you, too.