I wake up
And see you.
Your Face.
Your lips
Your nose
Your eyes.
But you aren't really there.

I have a knack
Sometimes
Occasionally
For figuring people out.
And you
And me
Are meant to be together.

How can I explain?

Once,
I thought that you were there.
I couldn't feel your body
Or anything fun like that.
But I could feel
You.
You know what I mean.

You're one of those people who can feel things, too.

I haven't put much thought into this poem.
It's been
2 minutes
Since I've started writing.
It's not
Pretty
Artistic
Or
Freakishly Amazing.

This is not Dante's Inferno.
It was not written to be beautiful.
This
is not
a story.

It's an autobiography.

I'm telling you exactly how it is,
What I've seen.

Because I know that you can see it, too.