I can sense your approach
but looking at you would be too painful.
Your eyes, your nose, your hands, your clothes;
never do I see them with a clear eye.
And I do not love you.
Your voice, your laugh, your talk;
I do not wish to hear it
but I always do, time and time again.
I cannot escape you, no matter how much I try.
But I cannot love you.
The things you say, the things you do,
what you like, what you hate,
your friends, your enemies.
I know them all, through and through.
But I must not love you.
A barrier, a fog, a wall,
they block me from you.
Once I talked to you with ease,
now the idea fills my head with sorrow.
So I may love you.
And I know, too, that this
will prevent you from knowing me.
You do not care about my looks or laugh.
You will not talk to me at all.
You shall not love me.
This one hurts more than it should, but I will relish the pain,