My love for her was beautiful before she knew about it. It was sad but beautiful. It was like a deep lake with an almost perfectly smooth surface. I preferred that version of my love for her to what it has become. This version has tasted death. This version walked on the edge of a black hole and got ripped to pieces. I prefer the version that was blinded by her light. When its future was hopeless but it felt like something a mere mortal could carry. That version gave me comfort. This version insists on keeping its sharp edges pointed at me. One wrong move and it will make me bleed. One wrong memory and nothing will get done for the rest of that day.