I had a rock
and the rock called itself love
and the rock was present and close
but the rock covered itself in slime and mildew
until I could no longer bear to touch it
and it was no longer a rock
and I lost my grip and fell into the boiling stream

I had a rock
and the rock told me its name
and I heard the rock say love
but the rock was saying Friend
the rock, though far away, was present,
and I could touch it, though continents seperated us
and there, held with a tenuous yet firm grip
in the solid arms of this rock
I could cry, and rage against its hardness
and still it held me close, through all my anger
and fear and pain and diseased need
until I could hear its true name
and called it Friend

I had a rock
and the rock called itself love
and the rock was firm and stong, and near and present
and held me safe
and I could feel strong and beautiful
I could feel my own power
but this rock had others that needed it
and their need was older and more firm
and this rock could no longer touch me
I felt this rock slipping away
and out of fear, I began to lose my footing

so now I float
in this abyss
unsure and lost
alone, grieving things I never really had
and wishing for my rock
hoping to hear this voice
to feel this surface against my skin
with only cool water to seperate us
until I too can be a rock,
and call myself love