I don't know if you still read this
But if you do
Please know that I'm sincerely sorry
For what I did to you.

I hope that you've moved on
And you never think of me
But I still cry over you
For hours, like I'm three

It tears me up inside
Because I didn't get to make it right
And it ways so heavy on my mind
That we had to end us with a fight.

I hope you still read this
I need you to know
I want to make this right
I want to let it go.

I fear what you feel for me
is not as strong as what I feel for you.
That scares me.
This scares me.
You scare me too.

I don't want to be hurt
so I need to know,
can I invest my heart in you,
or am I about to suffer a blow?

I want to say something,
these words I can't keep,
but I'm afraid I'll lose you
after the tiniest peep.

I wish I could tell you
just how I feel,
but I'm afraid it's too much,
and you'll gasp and you'll reel.

I need to touch you
in the most gentle of ways,
but you're miles away,
the swim would take days.

I miss your voice
and your face
and your hair,
having to keep this inside
just doesn't seem fair.

I want you to shout out
how you feel about me.
I need to know
how you feel about me.
I wish you would tell me
how you feel about me,
so I can blurt out this passion
and finally be free.

To define someone is a task,
which word? how many? how honest?
The English vocabulary stretches onward.
It's like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I found five needles
And with each I sew your quilt.

So relentless and pretentious
to everyone you meet.
With every little show
these stitches are easier to sew.

And as a reprobate
you should surely know,
the blackened thread gets blacker,
but you just can't let it go.

You are violently twisted,
as the definition suggests,
you're a contorted individual
that doesn't pose a threat.

Ah yes, you read it right.
For all your will to fight,
your lack of might
labels you innocuous.
That's correct, you're harmless.

These needles pierce the quilt,
they thread in every word,
and as you lay your eyes upon it
you realize you can't be cured.

My bed has been cold
for far too long.
The empty pillow beside me
seems so wrong
and when I think about your head lying there
I get feelings much too strong.
My emotions well up inside me,
they bubble up and over,
soon I struggle to breathe,
yet I cannot hide under the covers.

You won't be there
waiting to take it all away
you won't be there
to tell me it's okay.
I know I need to deal
but these thoughts feel so real
and I don't think I can cope
with this endless lack of hope.

Yet I must laugh at myself,
for well I know
you are on your way to me
even as we speak.
You would swim the Atlantic I'm sure,
just to see that I don't freeze.
You'd rush to warm these blankets
and do everything to please.

This knowledge makes me smile
and suddenly I see,
these sheets are not so cold
and these hopes are not so dead
and I know that soon your warmth
shall overheat this bed.

All the times I've said,
"I love you",
all of them were lies.
Except one.

Cruel fate denied me that one.

So I roam the vast crowds,
wading through soulmates,
young love,
forever commitments,
and all the passion in the air.

I roam alone.

It's amazing how life changes
when love is no longer in the picture.
Nothing matters, you feel empty,
you feel lonely.

But not just any lonely.

My soul is only lingering here,
for there is no one to tie it to me.

I cry on the inside,
but I can't hide it.
My skin is glass.

I thought you were gone,
but you were just hiding.
Hello again.

Was I out of your head?
Had you moved on?
Like a ghost I am gone,
but still here.

So I weep
for all to see,
but please just pass.
I am glass.