Peripheral

My poetry was laced with you this year.
I don't know if you noticed. My being can only contain so much before some things are displaced. From my attention, from my feelings, from my affection. Like my eyes that have a limited field of vision, my heart's eye had limited vision too, and it was focused on you.

And although you're worth my vision, I wonder if I'm giving you too much. You see, while you were at the centre of my affections, I find myself at the peripheral of yours, barely making it, forever ready to be displaced by the tiniest drop of something...new.

And though the blood that flowed through my brains was saturated with thoughts of you, most of its effect on me was fatigue. I struggled to be seen by you.

You see, dear friend, I'm not sure where I stand in the divisions into levels of attraction. And I'm rather worried I stand very low, where I may end up unnoticed forever.

So I wonder now if I should be satisfied to stay in your peripheral. Do I have the right, no, the capacity to demand more than your peripheral?

Do I have the right to demand being the centre of your, or anyone's attention?

You see I must now decide, dear friend, if I should settle for peripheral, or be content to only be the object of my own affections, with perhaps a German shepherd to lean on, and to pamper myself knowing no one else will.

Thank you for making me decide whether I would rather take a certain gift of costume jewelry or wait for a better but possibly unachievable gift of gold.