He's insightful. He's regretful. I resent him. I forgive him. He's remarkable. He's constant. I want to change him. He stays relevant. He is to me what I am not to him. His presense quickens my breathe and stimulates my blood. We make one another insane...  with dread, with hope, with angst, with love. He's silent. He's loud. He listens. He shuts me out. He values the sound of my voice, I sometimes make him laugh. Again and again I search for this spark in him that would fill me out. He's restless. He's tired. He's ambiguous. He's awkward, for no other reason than to just truely be himself. How can such intelligence be allowed to speak such crazy words. I loathe his inconsistenancy. I relish in his rare concern for me. His feelings are uncertain only for him to know. So I won't; I won't; I won't.