I wrote a poem about you yesterday. I wrote down things about me and you, and I swear to anything out there, it’s not something easy to do. I don’t know how much poems I’ve written and for god knows how many girls, and this one may not be different. But this one’s ugly, because it’s the truth.

The poem was about every scenario I imagined about us. It was all the plans that we made for the future, the plans we made in my head. The you and the me in my head are lovers with nothing to separate them, a companionship of two anxious souls, en route to the abysmal fear of what’s going to happen next. It was all the things that we could do, but at the same time we don’t even know if we’d ever be. And it’s not only ugly, it’s scary, because the truth is I want us to be able to realize my fantasies.

But though it’s only in my head, when I wrote it down it felt real. It was as though I was writing down what I’ve experienced with you on a piece of paper. And that’s just what we are, a blank sheet of paper, destined to be one of the greatest love stories ever written; or thrown into the trash bin as garbage, without any accounts of us, because nothing ever happened.

And maybe it’s only my thoughts that’s been going on and on about this, while you don’t even think of me enough to start any stories of our future days. I don’t know how you feel about me, and I haven’t told you the whole truth too. And maybe that’s good enough for now, because I can’t afford to lose you.