on a definite lack of passion

I will not cry for you, but I’ll stay awake long hours at night thinking of nothing else.
I cannot be angry at you, but I’ll be irritated and cross for the next day.
I cannot be swept off my feet, but I’ll walk beside you and hold your hand.
I will not love at first sight, but I will at 76th.
I won’t be overjoyed at the thought of you, but I will feel a rest and content settling on my soul.
I cannot fall in love, I must run after it, always hoping, searching the four corners of the earth, finding it piece by piece, until I fit all the pieces together and it turns out to be you.
I will not be blinded by passion, because I have none.

I do not know if it’s vice or virtue, but I do know it’s me. And I’ve come to terms with that.

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