Peculiar joy

So seldom
- because I am as I am anyway -
so strenuous
- because I seem to wait for failures -
she makes me tired
- because I am not used to them any more!
Yes, I know, you would find my behaviour excessive
but I am not able differently.
You would not have to say me how strange the mood is, I would read it in your eyes.
Only in my thought I stroked your soul,
to written down and, finally, nevertheless, still printed thought.
Maybe they make in a kind immortally?