How have I come to believe that I am so undeserving of love? Perhaps not underserving, but so entirely separate from it? A monument to solitude, crumbling. And maybe you can see me briefly before the cloud swallows me whole, but seeing is not reaching. There is no touch.
If you jump, the fall will kill you.
If you swim, the ocean will claim you.
Out here there is only me; silent monolith.