these days,
I find myself thinking about you.
mostly late at night:
in the mornings I remember
how I may not really
even
love you.
how I may actually
love
an idea of you,
or an idea of what we
could be like.
to be honest, what I love
has little to do with you.
yours is just the face I put
together with my favourite fantasies,
with drunken dreams
of drinking wine,
someone on my side of the bed,
late night dinners,
chinese food in the bath tub,
karaoke duets.
yours is the face I put
together with the things I've seen
on TV, with my silly romantic ideals
and with long lost hopes
of possibly, forever.
I don't love you, it just
feels like it sometimes.
mostly late at night.