Juvenile Admiration

By: RDV



And my voice sank underneath the cheers. The moment was too quick to allow recollection in the near future. You defined shock in its heightened state. You permitted my obsession, never promising not to forget it later. I, I stood, most often out of my mind. I sang songs for you, wrote prose in your honor, forced myself to cry just to convince me that you'd always stay as you were. I caught a disorder I know not the name of; I offered my sickness to you in the hope that my sacrifice would find meaning amidst my puzzled state. But you left and although you said you would be back, you returned not more, but less than the person I knew you to be. In your earnest attempt to recover your identity, you brooked ridicule, insults and the likes. They scattered your blood; you let them feed on it, rapaciously, without clemency. But pity you would not receive, my love's reception done with largely diminished warmth. I couldn't tell if it was pride that tempted such coldness; I couldn't tell if it was surrender incognito. I saw you once again, weaker, less, a stranger. I looked at your body and understood its capitulation, as well as the obstinacy of your mind. And my admiration for the old you grew exponentially intense. You were my one and only...