Dear You

Dear You,

I'm exhausted from thinking about you. I have lost the will and the inclination to eat, to sleep, to dream. I am slumberless at 4am, grasping at words above my head and whisking them into sonnets you'll never hear. Your smile is an ingredient in my verse. Your laughter, sieved, acts as a base for my hopeless musings of us.

My heart still yearns for an encore; another quick glance into your world so I can take a photograph, memorise every exquisite detail, map it to my own.

I can't recall what makes your eyes shine. I fumble through memories, all are tinted with want and need. I can recall my happiness, not yours. Always so wrapped up in myself; it was never the intention.

I miss you. Rarely do you glimpse out from beneath that cloak of bravado. I want to burn it. I've seen what's underneath: there's kindness, generousity, a softness which bewitched me. I guess you can't show this to the world for fear of rejection. I wouldn't reject you.

There are many things which I want to understand: the tides, the seasons, why I'm still under your spell. The pain which you have caused me is beyond comprehension. It worries me that you don't even know that you're casting it. Why do I still chase you when there are times when you make my insides shrivel and die?

I'd like to get inside your head and wander for a while. I'd set up camp next to your ego and feed off the energy of it inflating and deflating. Ego is a cruel mistress, Alex. It blindfolded you and walked you to a place where all you could do was hurt and you revelled in it; I lost you that little bit more.

I wish that I could cast you aside but I fear that there is more to you. I need to explore but the drawbridge is up. You're fully in control, Alex, and I'm sure that you know that. You decide you want me for a while, you drop the drawbridge and I rush in, regardless. I'd convince myself that it's because I want to make you happy but truth dictates that I'd rather be used again so I can pretend that I can still feel, if only for a little while.

I don't believe that I could make you happy. I want to prove myself wrong but am lacking the drive. Maybe I don't actually want to please you, maybe I'm just doing this for selfish needs, I wish I didn't get a kick out of being your toy, but I do.

I wouldn't be this way if you hadn't bewitched me but dignity, feeling, self worth... none of this matters without you.

Love, Me.