I don’t have thoughts about you.

I have thoughts about myself through your eyes.
Always.


Because I know exactly what’d they be impressed with, what they’d hate so much yet, fall deeply in love with.


Until now

It’s different.
Different isn’t even a word.
No word is a word, and no thought is a thought, and no symbol is anything of symbolic texture.
You are not you and I not I.

This is too real to be in a form of reality