All love is a war waged with weapons of heart, harpoons to slay the mystical beast we seek a lifetime to slay, when it slays us.
We seek no mercy from the beast we seek, expecting nothing
from it except for sounds from which me never heal, stumbling as if peglegged
on a ship destined to sink, this beast we seek to much for meek souls who
accompany us, love too brutal to be tames, too overwhelming to be changed, and
we must seek to slay it or be slain ourselves, this myth we believe in, the
very beast we need to be, even if in our seeking it, even if we comple
ourselves to seek it, we find nothing in it but our own demise.
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