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.