I rarely love these days, it has become a bother

A tedious job that offers a meager return

I rarely feel the need to embrace the thought of us and we

I most often entertain the I

Carnal needs for the we is rarely explored and even then they rarely notice my absent presence.

They rarely trouble with idea of we, they to seem to be fixated on the I as well.

Indifference seems to carry more comfort than intimacy

Passion has turn on its heels and now it is not directed at the we and forever, not even the now

Passion is on the go, the departure

His… mine…

Departure seems to be the only constant

I rarely except them to hunger to stay, more often they as I hunger for the departure.

I rarely fault them cause my surface glare says go and if they do bother to look deeper and see my heart yearning for them to stay they rarely heed.

It is just as well.

I do still believe but rarely trouble with hope and even if on the rare occasion he stays I am unsure my gypsy heart would notice his presence.