It is not gentle, the way you enter through my eyes.

It is not a cool sensation, a refreshing drink from a crystal lake.
It is not a kind comfort, a campfire on an already warm evening.

It is a sledgehammer to the corneas. A violation, a battering ram, a steel-toed boot to a deadbolted door, leaving a mess of wood-chips and splinters.

Your beauty is lava. An ooze of searing syrup. A scalding chemical that flows down my eye sockets, through my skull, and into my heart, leaving a sizzling trail, all the way.

And once the sight of you reaches my heart, it ignites into a fire. An unquenchable thirst. An untamable, unrelenting churning of flame. Explosion after explosion of why… why… why...

   Why is God so fucking cruel, as to make someone like you, impossible for someone like me to envelop?
   Why has something so perfect for me, and only me, been touched by another, been explored by another, and been cast aside by another?
   Why do you continue to assault me with your perfection, your imperfections, and your terrifying ability to send my serene days into a tailspins of wretched yearning?

No, it is not gentle, the way you enter my eyes.

It is torture. Horrendous torture.

Don’t stop.