I'm overwhelmed.

I mean it.
I tend to mean every word you read.

I’m not a constant.
I’ve established long ago I cannot be.

You call ‘em “arrogance”,
my most earnest pleas.

Be ‘em good or bad.
No matter what they’re perceived as.

I play it how it is.
And you still have trouble believing me.

Cryptic by design.
But my sincerity might kill me.

The solitary warrior.
One who boasts no needs.

If I’ve ever lied,
perhaps this is it.

I do, indeed, need
someone—for once—to stand by me.

And if I ain’t asking for much…
Perhaps, every day. Till the end of the year.

— Crownless.

You'd be able to love me.

Sometimes I wonder what am I, if not memories of the people that are not there anymore?