For I believe you to be a thief, my dear.
As I believe for all that come into my mind.
And perhaps, the thought of you still lingers,
As if to wistfully remind my bones,
That I must chase you,
To regain the part that you have so gracefully stolen.
Perhaps that is why you are so inescapable.
Because you have escaped,
And I lie, so desperately trying to avoid that realisation.
You have had such a grand heist on my heart,
And it is only in your wake that I have realised its absence.
How foolish of my indeed,
To leave it so unguarded.
Perhaps that is why my knees quiver when I hear of you,
Because I want to run,
To follow you.
Yet you are already so very far away.
And I fear, in the mist of the failures of distraction,
That I shall never make the distance.