I once implored the heavens above whether I should've been more. Perhaps with a little more, instead of these rocks that drag my heart to the abysmal pit down below, my chest would settle in a warm ethereal everytime my mind conjures an image of your face. Perhaps with a little more, I would've lived a life better than one formed around guilt and anxiety, knowing that yours was just as good and just a safe or even much more. Perhaps with a little more, the urge to cower and hid behind a shadow would cease to exist. Perhaps with a little more, I wouldn't have to whisper my misses that wrap itself between my adoration and despise. Perhaps if I was a little more of this and a little more of that, I could sleep a little better knowing that your soul is at peace. But to say that, am I trying to save you from yourself or am I trying to save myself from you. Will you say such self preservation is selfish, an act so despicable? If I was perhaps a little more, I wouldn't be yearning and avoiding you. Perhaps if I was a little more, I wouldn't be such a bad person.