Is that why you wanted a love song?

Too much work and a lack of concentration fueled by the desire to let go and write and scream. But how?
There's a block surrounding us and we're being consumed by the fire we began ourselves. Too ambitious, perhaps? Too eager? I'm told bitter truths that I swallow in sugar coated pills, pills that let out bursts of cyanide into my thoughts, until I am not I and you are not you, our world is changed, and there are no intersections in the venn diagram of our story.
Except maybe love.
But was love ever enough, as much as it may be? Does it part oceans, shake mountains, perform those miracles? Or is it just... Something that's there. Abstract, intangible. Is it possible for something to die when all you have is love? Wasn't it supposed to be the glue that holds it all together. "We might not have anything, but we have love." transforms into "We might have love, but we have nothing else."
I have no idea when and how that happened. I don't even know if it's happened. Sometimes I wonder about the past and how the years shaped the path I was going to take. I wonder if I'm a tad bit heartless, if I'm deliberately insensitive.
Insecure, invalidated. So am I.


I'm trying to let you hear me as I am