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Description
We aren't peanut butter and jelly. We aren't a candle and a flame. We aren't whales and krill, or dalmatians and firetrucks, or hay bales in an open field. Nothing is consumed, nothing is platonic, nothing is just a word to us. It's something to think of and scoff at and admire the pure irony of its existence in our entirely something lives. We grow, we create, we enjoy and are enjoyed. We're soil and water, sun and grass, gold and diamonds. I can have too much of you, I can tire you and tire of you. But in us I find balance. I find alone something I have found in you, and I find in us something that doesn't exist in myself. You season the dish. Scratch the paint. Knead the dough. I could just as easily have gone on without you, but I didn't. I went with you. I go with you. And now I'm altered. Not improved, not lessened, not left unchanged, altered. The true difference is a matter of personal preference. We're two pieces of different puzzles that inexplicably fit. It's beautiful. It's heinous. It's meant to be and purely coincidental. It's us, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Well, I might, and I could've, but I didn't. And now I wouldn't. Funny, huh?

Description
We aren't peanut butter and jelly. We aren't a candle and a flame. We aren't whales and krill, or dalmatians and firetrucks, or hay bales in an open field. Nothing is consumed, nothing is platonic, nothing is just a word to us. It's something to think of and scoff at and admire the pure irony of its existence in our entirely something lives. We grow, we create, we enjoy and are enjoyed. We're soil and water, sun and grass, gold and diamonds. I can have too much of you, I can tire you and tire of you. But in us I find balance. I find alone something I have found in you, and I find in us something that doesn't exist in myself. You season the dish. Scratch the paint. Knead the dough. I could just as easily have gone on without you, but I didn't. I went with you. I go with you. And now I'm altered. Not improved, not lessened, not left unchanged, altered. The true difference is a matter of personal preference. We're two pieces of different puzzles that inexplicably fit. It's beautiful. It's heinous. It's meant to be and purely coincidental. It's us, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Well, I might, and I could've, but I didn't. And now I wouldn't. Funny, huh?