I find your presence a little distracting.
And your breathing a little too deafening.
Your silence is a little too suffocating.
And your absence a little too disorienting

I love you and yet I dread you at the same time. The fault is mine.

Forgive me for being a little too human, for being a canvas of colours a little too clashing, jarring, for having contradictions too apparent by a little.

Now I just need to retreat inwards, by a little.