I wasn't supposed to be your passing fancy—
Your pretty little doting thing
who heels to your every beck and call
and reels and daydreams obsessively—
I wasn’t supposed to succumb to romanticizing notions
at all;
I wasn’t meant to fall
in love with a stranger who’s impossible to love
because you’re way the **** over there
living a life while I’m in the corner of my room sketching out your
holy doves—
Tell me: how is this fair?
That I can’t have you and hold you and have you hold me
I can’t tell if you’ve actually grown distant
or bored or indifferent or
have this secret building desire to just sign off
and flee—
I’m always pining away for you,
I hope you’d see
That my heart has always been yours
And it’s breaking in your hands,
Ultimately.