I've been wondering lately, you and me, 'a bit illogical, ' as you might say.
I can't tell why you stay, with your grandiose floatings, your mathematical endeavors, always seeking on towards something of enumerable value.
I wish you'd just stay and play for a while. Oh the picturesque times we'd spin right out, not fast, not slow, not hard, just right.
Those brief yet precious times we spend. Always, they end.
But I know you hate the ways I am. Yet still you are here with me, a sequel in the The Great Pretend.
"Why do you stay?" I ask, unveiled.
"I am nothing without you." they reply, softly, spoken as a lie, but reformed again within the light. They see themselves again uncouth, mind torn round, the heart spun right.
The words leave their mouth, and they see.
"I do, truly" they say.
"Good" I reply. I don’t know why.
Illogical, I suppose.