March of Men

I have a deep need to be loved in certain ways. Like through intellectual conversations and soft kisses. I enjoy exploring the mind's darker corners and asking hypothetical questions that leads no where. I work like this because my mind is so uncertain and scared of the unknown that I need to infect your day with, what you call, "meaningless chatter" when it's mostly for me and to help me calm my brain down.

There's something disturbingly unloving that you can't allow me to have that. Yet somehow I always feel at fault. Like I shouldn't think this way but that's just unravelling the techniques I have learnt over the years to help me cope and for you to invade that space hurts deeper than any cut I have ever caused or any curse you have sworn at me. 

I believe that we can both see the results in this. It's inevitable but yet we linger and dabble in the mess we've made. Pretending to forgive what we have done but never any apologises said. I want to fix this. I want to make things better but when you deny that we have an issue and blame everything on me then there is no us. You're not on my team. There is no fault or compromise on your side. I suppose my pride isn't as big as yours.