Every poem of love that I write angers me because I don't have this incredible person that's in my writing. Yet from somewhere deep inside me these words escape, and all I want to do is bottle them up, store them away. But what am I supposed to say, "Stay away"?

I just hope you're happy, wherever you are. Not knowing that I am in such inner turmoil because of you. Not knowing this perfect storm I have been brewing for you. Not knowing that I lie awake thinking of you. Thinking of what I would say, of what I would do for you. What I would give up for you.

You don't even know how much you mean to me while you are probably somewhere out there in this world doing who knows what and thinking about who knows who. How am I supposed to tell you how much you bring to my life, if you haven't even entered it yet?

When will you listen to my heart's lament as it tells of the pain that searching brings? The lament a heart releases when its searched so long for its counterpart, it's soulmate, only to come up empty handed in the end?

Do you have any idea what you do to me?