i’m wrapped up in your sheets,
i’m wrapped up in your mind.

you’re strangling me,
but your hands feel so gentle in doing so.

i’m wrapped up in what i wish we were,
& unaware of what actually exists.

i feel you when you’re gone,
but i wonder, am i only just feeling my idea of you?

do i know you, and are there things you wish to tell me that your mind won’t let you speak of?

do you know me,
have i let you see me,
or just what i believe to be?

is this love,
or are we looking through misproportioned emotions formed by our individual needs to be important to another?