Often I have thought this,
should I await her to come to me
or just sit here in dread anticipation
of the morning sun?
I foolishly believed that with this power
Would come the perfection of love,
but I will always be imperfect;
immortality changes nothing.
I could give her the very world,
every joy, every pleasure, every dream,
and yet it still won’t change what I am –
a monster in her eyes.
I shouldn’t have told her how I felt
or of my dreams and nightmares,
never should have showed her the thirst
that even I cannot quench.
But still here I am in want,
desiring her so, needing her to want me,
not because I’m a vampire,
but because she loves me
more than mortal life itself.
By Paul D Aronson.