It is with an emptiness in my throat,
a riptide in my stomach,
and needles in my heart
that I write this today.

I fear you might find out,
I fear you might realise,
I fear you might explode,
and I am terrified that you will leave.

If you happen to chance across this,
while actualising your thoughts into words.
Feelings and emotions I wished you share with me,
that you so easily convey to a machine.

If you could see through my eyes,
you would never feel insufficient again.
And so I beseech God to rid my mind of you;
a mind that is welcomingly plagued by your presence.

A mind that personifies hypocrisy;
as I read your writings about a boy,
wishing they were about me
but they are not.

And yet I still keep going back.
Hoping to find my name in your words one day.