Dear "John"

I m thinking of you, I don’t feel I have the right. You are going through a break up long overdue, it’s something that is deep and personal and there’s sadness and heartache and I have no place to be there, even in thoughts. I also don’t have the right to think about you because you are younger. I don’t feel it but I force myself to remember it and then I feel a bit ashamed. I also don’t have the right to think about you because I know the odds this is just a phase are tremendous. And if I think about you, I feel the feelings overflowing, and I get scared. Knowing this is probably something we fed each other as a sugar coated pill, as a rebound thing is comforting me. I don’t want to believe it’s real, it’s much easier if it’s not. I know it’s not. I know it’s not….I know it’s not.

But as I sit here and I try not to think about you, and I find million reasons to kill the buzz by thinking that u might realize that u 2 need to be together, or that you will go and start going out and have fun and outgrow this thing we have, I smile I don’t hurt and I find it fitting.

Cause it’s not real, I know it’s not.

But then how to explain its 4 30 and all I m thinking about is your voice, your face, your hands, your smile (that I ‘ve neer seen) the feeling you must be feeling and my heart swells up and I want to tell you how much I need to run to you and cuddle you, kiss your forehead, hold your face. How can I explain falling in love with you?

How can I explain my joy watching you doing something very difficult and painful that will give you what you need. And I m not a selfless saint saying I won’t mind if you need something other than me, but it’s too soon to feel actual hurt, and besides…what I feel is not real.  I know it’s not.

I wake up a few hours later and I think of you, but it’s not real. I wonder how you are, if you think about me too and I hope you are not and I hope you are. I know I won’t see that little green dot but I go to my computer anyway, it’s a piece of you. The only form of reaching out that I have.

All I can do is wait. For you to come to me, I don’t even know when, and my heart skips a beat. I m hoping way down inside, that you are more detached and logical than me. I can’t afford to be more than that. I got wings now, I paint I write, I m filled with energy, I am how I’ m supposed to be. 

You might never come back to me.Not the same, anyway. 

But I think the artist that I am, that creature that needs to express and needs to feel and fly in other pink dimensions is on to something here.I found my muse.

All I can do is wait and see. And write.

Channel this agony and anticipation, this tingling sensation that is based on something that isn’t real. I know it’s not. It cannot be.

I know it's not....

I know it's not