How I miss you,
You must feel this, know this,
As you in turn must miss me.
Do you miss me? Do you?
I think you do, you must do,
You say you do, when we speak.

Well, it’s the same for me,
But I often wonder, not always,
But often, what are we doing?
What are we doing?
Is this us? Is this who we really are?
Tis a far cry from who we thought we were,
Then again, previously, we did not know.

We could not know, how could we?
We had never met, were unaware,
Totally oblivious, that we could feel so,
That our hearts, minds and souls,
- not that I’m big on ‘the soul’ -
Could ever become so involved,
So intrinsically interwoven with another,
To such an alarming degree,
That it would change who we are,
That deep inside, where we live,
Behind our eyes, where we think,
We would never be the same again.

Are we to blame for what we do?
Can we help what we do? Can we?
Maybe, maybe not, we would suffer,
Oh yes, you think you miss me now?
You never know love, not really,
Until it is removed, forbidden,
Taken away far beyond reach,
Only then do you see, finally see,
Once you have lost that which you had,
Or even imagine you have lost it,
Only then do you understand,
How much you cared, cherished,
Adored, depended upon, needed,
That illicit love, that yearned for love,
The kind of love that is so rare,
It comes only once in a lifetime,
If one is lucky, very lucky,
So, even though, we do what we do,
Have changed who we are, irrevocably,
I doubt we will ever stop, not ever,
And there is no blame to apportion,
No disgust, no reprehensible behaviour,
There is just us, us, and how we feel,
Are we to blame for what we do?

For this is no ***** secret,
No clandestine meetings in dark alleys,
No all consuming flesh feast and nothing more,
No, this is a connection, a meeting,
A blending of hearts and minds,
Of thoughts and feelings,
A mixing of compatible personalities,
One that stretches over many miles,
Eclipsing all that has gone before,
A love that is real, very real.

You must feel this, know this,
You say you do, when we speak.
Do you miss me? Do you?
I think you do, you must do,
As I in turn miss you.
How I miss you.

Erin, this is for you only. The poem is real, I and this other person do exist, we are not together, and maybe we never can be. As I say, I have many like this, but not able to post them as it would expose the truth of how I feel, who I am, what I think. (I am trusting you with this, my private stuff, I never share, you are only the second person to read this, so please, keep it to yourself. It will be on here over the weekend then taken down, please don't re-post.)