To feel is a curse
To feel is a blight
To know how you feel yet lack the might, the prowess
To convey thoughts to words, to harness
The abundance of feelings welling up
Leaving you reeling, sickened and wondering
Who, what, when, where, why, and how
Do I love, do I hate, will it stop, will it go, and
Should I even let my feelings flow?

Shakespeare's rhymes sing of a beautiful time
Talk of beauty forever enlosed in his lines
How I wish I had the skill
To immortalize your elegance through my electronic quill
To be like the old masters of the art
To write everything on paper straight from their heart
But I fear I possess the level of skill for that kind of art
For I am a simple man and simple words are the weapons I wield

I guess I won that stupid fight of "I love you more."

I love you
that in itself
is poetry

I'm not insecure. I'm jealous and unrightfully so. You're not mine.  I'm jealous of anyone who catches your eye, I'm jealous of anyone who snags your attention. I'm jealous of the ones who take your time. I'm insanely jealous of anyone who makes you smile, feel, live more than I do. I have 41 days, 16 hours and approximately 32 minutes left here. I completely understand that you would not want to commit to that, to me when I will be 800 miles away. But I'm still here for now. I'm here now. Make these moments count. These should be what matter. Don't be scared, because you know I'm going to leave please. I just want to love you deeper than anyone else has, or will. Why can't you let me?