Two hearts

It's sad when two people love each other very much, but cannot make each other laugh. They say "love conquers all," and perhaps it does; but can it triumph over those long durations together, those stretches of strained intimacy, when nothing can be said because it can't be understood? The only way to be together then is to be only half together -- to present yourself in part, and keep the rest hidden. To hide your peculiarities under false accent, to stifle and suffocate your voice, and handcuff your heart. To go forward anyway is a great act of faith, hoping that you can become someone acceptable and lovable. To hope you can choke out the 'weird guy', kill him off quickly before he gets noticed and ruins the whole thing. But you never can. That's my lesson. You can never live inside someone else's wishes, even if they compel through nobility and beauty. In short, it's better to be yourself, and be rejected, than to be loved, and be a sham. The truth is that such love is temporary, a lewdly painted blossom soon to weather and wilt. Blaze away, my weird one, blaze away sad, silent son, enflame the regent night, and illumine empress noon-shadow. I'll be as one, or none.