Attraction

I touch real sadness with you.
An empty, prison caged, hollow pain,
that haunts and holds and burns.
Laughter that wont last;
a smile that doesn't feel safe.

I see you holding on,
waiting,
hoping for anything,
or anyone,
to make this make sense.

I feel broken dreams in you.
Remnants of fully investing,
of really believing,
of the grandest plans,
and most impassioned nights
-
replaced with loss
and the ghosts of great love;
Of the quiet knowing,
that your very ability to feel so again,
is gone.

And its beautiful.

The ruins of your ancient,
acid washed insides,
overgrown with the naivete of legend,
have a peculiar attraction to me.
You are the romantic tragedy;
the heartless sacrifice,
the thrown down gods of a time
Ill never know.

You are the closest thing to perfect
these eyes have held onto.
Haunting, and broken,
unsearchable, and barred.
My heart yields,
and I feel it again;
that genuine rush,
that actual interest.

The crowds pass by:
merely tourists,
nothing deeper.
In the desolation of your grandeur,
They busy themselves with your sights.
The ever graceful angles and curves,
and how they can fit
themselves
in frame.

But I want you,
like I wanted to never stop running.

I need you,
like I need them to never know me.

I love you
like I didn't think was still possible.