I miss you. It should be impossible to miss someone you’ve never actually had to begin with and yet here I am, nursing a heavy heart and missing you completely.
I feel for you. I reach out into the empty space of my loneliness, grasping, groping and delicately tracing the places that I see you belonging.
When you said you could give me everything, anything at all that I wanted but you just couldn’t give me that one part of you, I wonder what you meant. The fact of the matter is that I had everything I wanted, I just couldn’t have it when I wanted or openly. Which wasn’t enough.
I could talk to you for days. I really could. Those cracks and tears in your surface that you fleetingly revealed through the course of our conversation have sparked my interest to no end and I long to know you better. Perhaps it would make things easier, like you said, but I don’t really care too much about that. I care about my curiosity, forever hindered by the possibility that all my interactions with you are driven by the desires that you cannot fulfill.
I don’t know another way to love you and I cannot compartmentalise the variety of ways that I feel for you. I wonder, if it were that easy then would you be so profoundly sad