knowing

I know of longing, laughing, caring, sacrifice, and of devotion; all the things I know, I know because of love and I was loved an inordinate amount--we did; I knew love then, but I know it better now. 

But it was when we began crumbling, that I broke myself from foundation towards opposite equivalents of what I didn't know, to quell unknown fears and now--I know that I was better off not knowing. Which is really hard for me to accept. Curiosity killed the cat, but it did me worse, it made me feel as if I've never even existed; being replaced is worth less weight than a discomforting death.

Me to be better off not knowing is mostly impossible. I wanted to know the things I didn't know. The things I never experienced, I wanted to experience it all. I wanted to touch the nerves of the unknown with an untouchable security of certainty and feel something in return. I knew simply to live this way my whole life until I fell in love with you and I was ok with not knowing anymore; it was the first time I felt complete, knowing something I, just, didn't, know. I knew I was happy--finally--and truly. Just being with you.

Then when everything in the world was balanced again, and I, as ever as I can see, became perfectly imbalanced in uncertainty again. But love bore its cancers of unrelenting longing for what I loved, and I killed that sorrow with wine and even for just awhile I become comfortably uncomfortable and do the same again.

Just as I knew love but know it better now, I knew sadness and I know it more now. I want to speak of new unknown love I've learned from impediments of my disposition and share what my heart doesn't know with you. When you are ready to accept me, I will give you something better.