why is chasing you so hard?
why is loving you so insane?
why is walking with you so simple?
yet so hard.
why do you hide your face from me?
why do i hide mine from you?
why is trusting you so damning?
why is trusting me so freeing?
why can’t you answer me?
why can’t i listen?
why does everyone hate you?
or do they hate themselves?
why does everyone claim to know you and yet no one does?
why do i think i know you?
do i know you?
do i feel your presence or do i feel my desire for it?
do i hear your voice or do i hear mine, desperately trying to imitate yours?
do i see you all around me or do i see me all around you?
do i truly believe that you exist or do i believe that you existed?

i walk, i stumble and fall.
a cross falls off my back and onto the road beside me.
oh. that’s why i fell.
but i do not recognize that cross.
is it yours or is it mine?
can i make for myself a cross out of vain ambition and false humility?
look at me.
look at my cross.
look at my blood.
isn’t it lovely?
i pick up the wood, and the splinters pierce my flesh.
blood pours.
this thing must be made of stone.
its weight is beyond compare.
what happiness i find in the pain it brings me.
joy weeps elsewhere.
finally, i make it to the top of the hill.
there, i suffer.
there, i bleed.
there, i die.
on my cross.
for me.

and You die next to me.

love so horrid and ugly; is it love or is it pretense?

love so beautiful and divine; is it mercy or is it pity?

mercy is for the living. pity for the dead.

i am alive.

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