Warts

So here we are again; warts revealed, ugly bumps painfully visible under the accusing light of the sun. The last
time I was here, exposed, I was loathed for all that I was, all that I am. So the question is posed anew: Can I
be loved, warts and all? Can she love me knowing my faults?

It's selfish of me, perhaps, to be yearning to be loved. To be seen for my faults and still be found worthy of love.
To be seen as the frail human being I have always been and, somehow, still seem beautiful to her.

Will she see that I long to be able to overcome these faults in me? To assuage my character flaws and become a better man?
Will she see that she's a reason for me to be a better person?

I make oceans out of puddles, I know. But the little things are the ones that kill... and I am so little.

I am horrible, I know. I am ugly inside, I know. I am flaw upon flaw; layers of wrong. But am I still worthy of
of the privilege?

Can I fulfill her? Can I see her for who she truly is? Can I come to understand her? Am I simply too obtuse to do so?
Will the same revealing light that shines upon me be cast on her? Will I find her as beautiful as I have found her thus
far?

Madness, this intensity of emotion. This is madness. Irrational is what I have become. Where have I left my self-control?
Where are my measured movements and calculated actions? I am at a loss, for I know nothing of where these may
have eloped to, married and off on some journey wherefrom I will never see them returned...

Madness. Sweet, painful, joyful madness. Dark, warm, heartwrenching madness. She is my madness.