Love, love is a verb

Love is a doing word. I'd do it all again. But my emotional response lacks the intensity I am used to and familiar with as he has somehow numbed my mind. I want to tell him, but I have confused him too much already. I detest and despise this restrictionn, trains of thought echo in my mind. Distant. Burning bulb has gone flat now. Trembling man, there is so much you don't know about me and someday I will tell you everything.

My moral conscience is like a very small trapped mouse. It squirms at the surface of my expressed opinions, but I can't suppress that cheap thrill of thinking rebelliously.
The glamour of a non-conformist.