This will be the last time I will write about you

Sure enough, this statement will just disintegrate into dust and fall
into a litter of all the “this will be last time“‘s I’ve
said
I know myself too much already
That it will be a bad lie to say that I’ve closed the chapter
Your chapter
That I had intentionally dog-eared so I won’t get lost in rummaging
through the pages
Fact is, even if I didn’t
I took a mental picture of the page number
Another fact is, I always claim that I have ended it
But I secretly sneak and dig up the book I’ve buried just to read you
again
Because every time I thought I lost the feeling, I will feel euphoric
for split seconds
But then I will feel so empty that I have to get the feeling back
immediately
I don’t know if you just became a habit that morphed into something
hard to break

I also don’t know if this is the real thing
I’ve been sitting between two chairs for a long time
It was always a battle: your idea versus reality
But no matter how much I fool myself that I’m a thinking person now,
I will always be a slave of my own disgusting feelings

I don’t want to lose the feeling of how you make me feel
I don’t want to lose the thought of you, only you, and your distinct
power over this diamond-hard heart
I don’t want to lose the tingling of my nerves when your details seep
in
How being with you is not one of my disposable days
You’re not extraordinary, not rare
you’re exceptional
That you will always make me look for you in other people
You’re not a fish, you’re the Loch Ness Monster
Maybe you’re just a hoax, but there’s only one of you
And that I think,
is the best and
(at the same time)
worst thing
about you