I keep feeling the need to reach out to a place where I am unwanted...
life goes on yet pieces of me float...wander purposefully toward a resolution
that will never come.

He loves me. To a point. Doesn't want me.  Past a point.  Needs me to silently forgive the wrong he keeps doing.  Beyond the point.

There is no return from the middle.  The purgatory of heart and mind is unsatisfying compromise...
because every thing's in it's place and there's a place for every thing...

I believe unwanted is a space uneasily detected, but readily identified...
in a far off look or stare; faint whimpers hung loosely on lips that slip into cold air...

To the point.  I'm here.  Past the point.  You're there.  Beyond the point.  One of us doesn't want to feel the felt...live the life...the reality of bitter regret.

All we can do is enjoy the motions...
All we can do is embrace the roles...
All we can do is numb the obvious...

On opposing sides of a resolution that will never come because--
We don't want it.