If only I were him and you were her and she didn't live so far away and we were all too busy to write about and long for love because we were all too busy enjoying its beauty and living in the center of its deepest depths and our thirst never came from a lack of desire and it all turns cliché as I point out that we are only who we are and knowing that still isn't enough to answer the question of who are you but an endless dream of a kiss that I will never receive and I find myself sleeping and napping just to watch it repeat on the walls inside my marrow over and over again and again...