A Means to an End.

I have no desire to be honest or direct about my love life at the moment.
I don't want anyone to know how much I despise patience and the seasons that involve stillness.
This process is simply a means to an end.
And I don't want you to know that I am hating this...

Stress outlines your eyes in red, but the substance exiting my heart possess the same hue.
But I don't want to say a word.
Honesty would only turn the attention from your pain to mine...with only the latter ceasing.
So, if my absence is like a warm balm on your wounds...then I will stay away forever.
My means to an end... for you.

No. I don't want to admit this...I don't want anyone to know that I am in this tomb alone.
That I die a thousand deaths each time I am near enough to touch you.
Yet this is my means to an end...
...Because nothing can be resurrected if it isn't first lifeless.
So, I will endure these three cold, motionless days if it means that love lives here.