I must tell you that I was always afraid of the fury with which I loved you. It overwhelmed me. I thought it beyond comprehension, therefore my silence. I felt overshadowed by the power of it, I was afraid of it and afraid of you. So strong and pure was this passion that it came out as pure venom. I know that you will always think I hated you. If only you knew how wrong you were. I remember when just the sight of you would send me into a fit of rage so blind and molten, I would claw at my flesh until I drew blood, hit myself in the face and cry. I remember the last time I saw you. You were so kind, and I was so hard and sullen. It was all I could do to contain myself. A rose trapped inside a fist. If I had not walked away quickly after my short reply, I would have been at your feet, begging to be at your side forever. It is the only place I ever wanted to be. To me you are more than woman. You are a creature of beauty, a creation of a higher order. I will die knowing that no one has ever loved you as I have loved you all these years. I will now attempt to say your name with my last breath.
Henry Rollins, from Solipsist (via aeloquence)
