To miss what you've never had is a hell all It's own.

/You/. n: The radiation that makes me Superhuman.

/You/ n: The very kiss that will turn me into a Prince.

Without /you/... I'm nothing more than Superman eating krypotine corn flakes in his Spiderman boxers; Powerless and lazy. Contradicting.

Without /you/... I am an ugly toad hopping across the laps of queens and witches alike. Inconfident, hopping around aimlessly. Searching for /you/. only /you/.

I can't do this without you; The writing more specifically. Not unless I'm inspired by you. I've never even thought about writing before /you./ Now, It never ceases to amaze me how the thought of /you/ can fill a page so quickly.

What do I do? How do I even begin to write. Just out of the blue...

Well, I could write something not related to you for once. Yeah, I could write a poem about the edge of the world; about standing on the highest cliff, over hanging the most vast of oceans. Watching the sun dip beneath the waves. I'll describe in painstaking detail how the orange-pink hue of the sunset bleeds into a purple night sky. How the stars begin to reveal themselves as the softest breeze carries a flurry of softer, light-pink cherry blossoms petals across the open air. Yes, fireworks boom off in the distance! Flashing, strobing colors. Vibrant greens, reds and neon blues light up the sky falling perfectly in different formations. Id finnish the 18th paragraph, then elegantly rip the page to shreds. /You./ You're still more beautiful than that.

Alright... what do I /want/ to write about then? Hm. I... I want to write about how I will wait for you to be over him. I want to write about how I know we'll fall in love again. Im not just hopeful... I just somehow know it. My heart tells me so. I know I haven't done much listening to it, however, that's all the more reason to make up for my stubborness. More reason for my confidence. My persistance. What else...? Well.

I want to tell you again and again how much I love you --how much even thinking the those three words shortens the air in my lungs. I love you. Imagining, me telling you in person, it makes me weak. I love /you./ I want to write about getting carried away and saying it over and over and over and over again. /I love you./ making up for the wasted time I spent pretending to love someone else.

How can I look myself in the mirror, and judge myself for feeling this way. Am I mot mentally well? A pair of dark, contemplating eyes stare back into themselves. I talk, and they answer:

"Excessive much?"  Of course. "A bit Obsessive don't you think?"  No doubt.  No, no, no, ot doesnt go that way. I talk to myself all the time --we have an understanding. It's been concluded that I am excessively, obsessively, over expressively in love with /you./ and we're okay with that.

I want to write about all of the women who will never be /you./ about how I am helpless to love you, even if you still love him. I want to write the most descriptive literary illustration of my love for you. I want to write your name on my shoe in permanent marker over and over and over again so it never fades. I want to write Daft Punk lyrics all over my notebook. "It might not be the right time, I may not be right one."

I want to keep going and going and fill up the pages with my various, complicated expressions. I want to put this song on repeat. "but there's something about us I've got to say, because there's something between us anyway."

I want to stop writing and start whispering in your ear, the lyrics that so simply say everything "I love /you/ more than anything in my life, I love /you/ more than anyone in my life."

I want to press stop and bitterly toss the CD into the closet, frisbee style.

Nothing could ever express this.
Not even two Grammy award winning robots programmed to feel the strongest of emotions. It has to come from me.

I love /you./
I want /you./
No one else but /you./
I won't settle for less.
I won't settle for less.
Nothing less than /you./

No. It doesn't come close. I have to stop here with the realization that this does me and my feelings no justice at all.

Such worry ; such a waste.
Put a smile on your face.

The girl next door revealed to me that she had but half a heart.

When I offered mine, she quick declined and left me in the dark.

It doesn't make much sense to know, you're in control, when that's just the way you are.

I know I've won the war but there's no way I'm showing off my scars.

You're waiting to die, and I know why.

I don't want to die, but I'm tired of living.

Build a house to live in,
To breathe in the air you need,
Build a life to lead then,
Ask yourself, what's it worth
Before you die,
Before you die,

Build a love to sleep in,
To fill the hole you're deep in,
Let it grow baby grow till it's 20 feet tall,
Watch it all fall down, all fall down,

The clouds are following,
The souls searching for the sun,
They say we're the hopeless,
But we are not the only ones,
And I could sing until the rain,
Comes and drowns the screaming out,
The broken words the stapled mouth,
Makes you wonder what it's all about,

This is everything you've ever wanted,
Is it not though?

(I take it back I do, you would too, if you ever felt the way I do.)

Ain't this everything you've ever dreamed for?
Must be nice right?

(I didn't think this through, neither did you, I can tell you feel the way I do.)

Misery, Misery, I bet you never thought it'd be thought it'd be.
happening to you and me you and me now you're thinking stupid me, stupid me
Oh Oh

Destroy the hand that feeds you,
Reject the help you need,
Pass the blade that reaps you,
Just so you can tell yourself,
That all I need is me, me, me,

Hate the heart that loves you,
Break the arms that throws themselves
around you waist convince yourself that you're a waste
of time and space and then you'll see,
How free you'll be

This is everything you've ever wanted
Is it not though?

(I take it back I do, you would too, if you ever felt the way I do.)

Ain't this everything you've ever dreamed for?
Must be nice right?

(I didn't think this through, neither did you, I can tell you feel the way I do.)

Misery Misery I bet you never thought it'd be thought it'd be
happening to you and me you and me now you're thinking stupid me, stupid me
Oh Oh

You never let it go, Yeah, you never did.

There was once a famous painter who, to express his love for a woman, cut his own ear off and sent it to her. We all know the story. Even I, a pretty eccentric and extreme person myself, thinks that's way too extreme. but hey, nothing says I Love You like a ****** chunk of cartage stuffed in an envelope right?

A couple days ago you told me to do something that scares the **** out of me, at least once everyday. No, I didn't cut my ear off or anything like that. lol. but that night I sat and thought about things that frighten me but to no avail. I wouldn't say I'm fearless, but I'm a person who enjoys taking risks and prides himself on surviving the most horrific experiences. There aren't many things in this world that rattle me. I'm not superstitious, I have no interest in what others think about me, and pain is only temporary. Well, Physical pain. Pain of a more emotional variety can last. Years even. An intangible, constricting weight of question. A couple thousand needles of "What if?". A potent venom of repeating "I wish". The things that spread your eyelids apart in the middle of the night. When you tell your body "No." When you squeeze your pillow and mumble to your own thoughts "No, don't you dare wander to that place." When you plead with yourself to forget.

Nights like this are the reason why I find it hard to write you, the nights where I don't sleep, can't sleep until I write you and even though most times I don't send the messages, (Or they get sent to you accidently baha) I'm gonna send this one to you. Because it scares the **** out of me.

Starting is the hardest part. It's been probably forty five minutes since I've started the occasional ritual of tossing my bed covers aside and pacing around my room tenderly as if I'm scanning the ground for the words I need, as if I could just pick them right up and hand them to you. However, I always find nothing. I skip every other step on the way down to the computer and sit gingerly in my lame floral chair, watching my cursor blink against your empty message box. It speaks to me. "Blink type something ****** Blink." After a few minutes of typing and erasing and typing and erasing I thought "This is stupid." Then I remembered the story about the painter. It made me think. People have always done stupid things for love. Sure, I'd be embarrassed and vulnerable and possibly even having you meet me with a spine shattering "sigh", "This is getting old." or even have "What is the ****** point?" hammering my morning thoughts. But Hey, At least I'm not mutilating myself.

Well. I tend to beat around the bush a lot, but at this rate I'm just stepping on the twigs. Dancing on the torn leaves and such. I'll stop. I have some things I want to tell you.

I won't let my guilt stop me from saying what I want to say this time as I've done many times in the the past. I think that's what holds me back, the guilt? Whatever.. I mean you're over it, I should be too. I know you're over me too, but that won't stop me either. Des, I miss you. I miss your voice. The medicine in your laugh, the discipline in your scowl. The way that we'd talk all through the night till one of us unked it. The several stones that would plop in my stomach when I would get a text from 'Desire Deslonchamps', Your french *** name (It's so **** btw) I miss the armada of butterflies roosting on my ribs whenever you'd tell me you adored me. I miss our conversations, you have always reached higher than anyone else I have ever talked to intellectually and I mean that quite literally. it baffles me how no matter who else I was with, they were never good enough. That I was always comparing them to you, and thinking "Des wouldn't have said that." or "Des would have loved this more." No one is as funny or talkative or as tender or as wild as you. I would stuff every single one of those girls in a shredder just for even 5 minutes with you.

I look through your pictures all the time, I feel like a teenager sifting dreamily through a magazine looking at some chiseled, oiled up celebrity that doesn't even know she exists. I read everything you post, I worry when you seem sad, I laugh when you laugh. Everytime Facebook tells me you've uploaded and new picture I always go look and end up sighing like a ***** maiden. Excuse the metaphor but it's true. haha.

A couple days ago, when you were telling me about your ex, for a second I kind of thought you were talking about me... and I got so excited, I really thought that you still felt for me and that maybe I hadn't completely lost it and that you weren't jaded or whatever, but when you showed me what you actually did write him, and everything and... ugghh, I just felt so stupid. Sososososo stupid. I don't know why... and I know you still really like him and everything, but I just want to let you know that the level of emotion and personal attention I have for you is strong and consistent. I'm not saying that no one will ever feel for you as strongly as I do, But I'm saying that it'd be pretty **** hard to top it. I just want to let you know that this will never go away. I have tried everything short of a lobotomy but I can't ever, and will never forget about you. I know how foolish it is, but there is no way I could ever help it. Humanity help me, it's literally impossible to knock, like that crazy romance **** You see in movies. It's unreal.

Desiree I think about you more than I think about Sableyes and Adoring fans and Acid trips and soft melodies. All of the things I daydream about. Whenever I daydream, I always add on the wishful thought of someday sharing whatever I'm dreaming about with you, or just sharing me with you. I laugh hysterically in my head at the thought of ever being what I once was to you again, a laugh developed by my pride to stifle my cries and soak up my tears before they ever surface. No, I'm not sad all the time, just when the thinking reaches a fever pitch. Sad isn't the word, more like frustrated. You know me better than anyone on this planet, seriously, You know that I have problems communicating my feelings properly. Most of the thinking is me trying to put words together for you. Though I usually don't come up with anything until I actually do write you, There's always been one thing that I've wanted to tell you that I could never form an appropriate form for and even saying it now would do it an injustice because I can't make these words jump off of the screen and wrap it's arms securely around waist, or whisper quietly in your ear or emulate the disparity of them properly, it's all I got. This xenomorphic phrase.

Physical pain may be temporary, but I'm still too much of a ***** to cut off my own ear, So these words, They're all I have left. The only thing that I can give to you with every bit of a human heart and genuine honesty I have...

Desiree Deslongchamps,

I love you.

I honestly just want to love and protect everyone I come into contact with. That's where I'm at. It might sound a bit too generous, or even socially unrealistic but it's tough out here --we can't all be self perserving; we shouldn't be picky about who we choose to make smile.

You'll never know how cool I am, when I'm around you I just lose my cool.

But if you decide you decide to hold my hand, I swear I'd be warm enough for you.

As cold as hearts can sometimes be, it finds a flame, only after it's found your name.

As cold as my once stumbling feet, always steadly stumbling, fumbling your way.

Tip-toe, one. two. One. In front of. The other. tip. Toe. Tip.

This dance often repeated when I feel I've lost my grip.

Tip-toe, one. Two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. toe. tip.

You watch me advance, cocked brow and lip.

Crawling back to you.

Always crawling back to you.

Always never ever feeling right until I write to you.

And every night I write to you;
In my head, lying awake in bed;
with keyboards or with lead;
with songs birthed from dread--
singing "our love is dead."

And You'll never know how cool I am, cause around you I just lose my cool.

So I settle for a copy, for a hobby, for a tool.

As cold as hearts can sometimes be, it would thaw at a possiblity of you and me.

As cold as my once stumbling feet, still steadly stumbling, fumbling your way.

Tip-toe, one. two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. Toe. Tip.

I don't fear your rejection, in your eyes I've already quit.

Tip toe, one. Two. One. In front of. The other. Tip. toe. tip.

Inching as close as I can get, Hoping you still hear your name on my lips.

knowing the first thing you might say is , "Ain't this some ****."

"You come and go as you please, you do?"

"Assuming that I'll always be here for you."

But you /were/ always there
And I think that's hella cool.
That'd you could be so warm,
To such an uncool fool.

Make descisions based on how each outcome would make you feel emotionally. That's all. In the end your body will wrinkle up and your desires will change with the seasons, But one thing that never folds,  changes or decays is your heart. So take care of it and it'll take care of you.