The People We Create/9.21.17
You don’t even exist yet you’re haunting me. I’ve created this hope in my heart that can never be satiated and you wouldn’t even recognize yourself, my version of you, if you were staring at him in the mirror.
It’s been months a year of creating you. Molding you. This perfect being that loves me (But it hurts too bad to be near me). It’s romantic and heartbreaking and everything I always thought love would be. The kind of love that long poems are made of. The kind that leaves me breathless and yearning for your fingers on my thighs even though I know I’ll never come.
I’ve poured hours. Nights. Dreams into who you are and pieces of actual you made it in there. The smile that is in your eyes and not in your mouth, the hand that covers your laughter. Patterns, redness, music, dark sheets. Other parts died as hard as when I said goodbye. The lumps of lies in my throat, knowing I only knew half of your truth, only wanting to know the half you gave me.
I wish you could see this you. You’re beautiful. But I know you don’t exist past my pen and paper living in the hollow of my mind, haunting me.