The only thing worse than being with you,
is not being with you.

The only thing worse than talking to you,
is not talking to you.

Every time I try and go cold turkey,
I find my hand automatically
reaching out.
I grasp and open my fist,
but nothing is there.

You thawed me out,
a task previously thought impossible.
Problem is,
I can't stop melting.

How dare you give me these feelings,
turn me into this,
when you get to walk around solid
and free.

I'm a wreck.
Unrequited love is too pretty a term for whatever this is,
the ugly, confusing mess that has
spawned
and
grown
between us.
The one you engendered.

I hope you're happy now.
I hope you can sleep soundly at night,
whilst I toss and turn between images of you.
I hope you can look me in the eye when we speak,
whilst I try hard to find the floor,
the table,
the clock on the wall,
as interesting as possible.
I hope,
most of all,
that one day you'll open your eyes
and finally see me.
I'll be waiting.

Sad thing is, I think you know it.