i crave you,
and i haven't the slightest of clue why.
i just do, and its pathetic.
(i'm pathetic; they were right)
i find myself constantly with these letters
pouring out, forming words,
forming sentences, forming paragraphs
about you, and i know that
you'd not spare me a second glance
if our paths were to cross again.
yet i find that
everything about you, intoxicating
from the ghost smile on your lips to the
humourless laugh that resonates so clearly,
and i find that I love you, so i'll say it one last time
and in return i'll hear yours, barely there;
your soft, petal I love you, too.
(do you really mean it?)
maybe we're just not built to last.
[And our time's up so I'll leave, and I hope
that I'll be able to forgive myself for letting you go.]