Condition.

My eyes fall upon him with such softness,  that I find my self sighing at my own lack of the
necessary despondency.
This overwhelming urge to take care of him grips me when I read the unrest in his face, regardless of where it has arrived from. I want to make his mind quiet. Wrap him up in the soft waves of silence.
But,...he doesn't care for me.
Not as I care. But then- I care too much...
I should work on slowing the beat of my heart.
My mind sending out it's care into darkened air. Each time it comes to rest upon him I hope it somehow permeates his skin...
Making him feel safe. Even if he neither knows nor cares for why.
I give out without expecting to get back.
I cannot seem to help myself.
I want him to feel loved, despite my own heart.
My mind becomes tangled around his seemingly thoughtless inaction.
And I know I should step back before I fall.
For somehow his lack spurs me on.
I am no longer to be the moth at a flame.