You talk about her
like she’s the beautiful, inky night sky,
and you stand there waiting, wanting
to be the boy to hold the stars for her.

You talk about her
like she’s the missing fraction in your body.
You can’t breathe, move, eat or sleep.
Like she’s something you cannot live without.

You talk about her
and it shows how much you’re longing
to be with her, wherever that is.
That despite the miles and hours that stop you,
it doesn’t even matter as to how much
you’re craving for her.

You talk about her
the way I see a sunrise.
There’s a glint of hope
in every word spoken.
Hopes filled with vivid imaginations
of her running back to you.

You talk about her nonstop.
She’d had your mind preoccupied
with her dubious self.
Her voice at 2AM echoing around
the corners of your brain.
Her brown eyes clear
and earnest against yours.
Her lips curled up into a smile
at the sight of you.

You talk about her
because you think about her constantly.
Like there aren’t even other things
in the universe that rattle your head
other than the thought of being next to her
and holding her hand and paying attention
to her and just.
And just being with her.

You talk about her
like you’ll never
run out of words to say. . .

You talk about her
the way I wish
you’d talk about me.