The Collection

I collect madmen. I wish I could write about you, but the words don't fit. Just like you. Besides maybe "chaos" and how badly do you want to care but it doesn't come easy? I wonder if that's frustrating. Or maybe it's indifference (but far less satisfying). But it's this silently beautiful kind of thing. And now you remind me of a lunatic. And I've met many but none like you. With that mind that I can't see, but it's not void like you say. Something, even if  beautiful, chaotic nothing. I just don't know what I'm looking at yet. Like when I'm standing next to you and that thing sucks my soul right out and I freeze. And at first I thought it was a bad thing, but now comfortable with I just don't know.

And I really don't care. But I guess now I love you too.

Add one more to the collection.