It's one in the morning.
And I am not sleeping.
While everyone else is cozy and dreaming-
I am tossing and turning.
Fuming and yearning.
For your touch,
For your taste,
To hold your hand,
Look at your face.
I should go to bed,
I should get you out of my head.
But I can't.
Because it's 1:30,
And you still haven't spoken to me,
Not in weeks.
Just to be clear,
I want this to be the last thing I ever write about the first man I held so dear.
I want to not think about you anymore,
I'll move on with my life and you'll move on with yours.