A desire in disguise. A hidden obsession. 
Mere wishes, labeled forbidden by your lack of understanding.
Past misadventures conjugated in the future tense.
Let me ask you something -- What do you fear?

A conflict

We found comfort in the truth
They sought truth in their comfort

Our pleasure was free of guilt
Their guilt was full of pleasure

We found beauty in acceptance
They sought acceptance in beauty

Our words were made of love
Their love was built on words

We communicated without ever speaking
They spoke without ever communicating

Alone, we rose
Lonely, they fell

Together, a conflict:

Are we to become one of them,
Or should they become one of us?

Counting time

Every day, I take a minute or two and devote it to studying the reflex of my countenance through the mirror image. Each time, I see a different person. A different version of what I was taught to refer to as ‘me’. The changes are subtle, but they are there. There’s always something different -- a different shade of brown to my eyes; a different line to my forehead. Some would say I’m aging, but that’s just another word for it, one that veils the true meaning of counting time. In reality, time doesn’t happen to any of us. It has always been us -- we happen through time.