To the woman I have fallen for,
you know exactly who you are.
I saw you once from across the room,
and without a word,
you had me wrapped around your finger.
Our time together,
although it really wasn’t ‘our time’
and together we certainly never were,
was spent apart,
with an opportunity presenting itself
every so often
for me to take a glimmer of you.
I drew you into me like oxygen,
even when I did not want to,
and I remember thinking
how I wanted you as my own.
Even now, as I try to articulate this into words
it is difficult to fathom,
for you simply were yourself,
just as I simply was attracted to you.
The courage I needed to tell you,
(a woman who is totally out of my league,
for you have made your bed
with those I do not associate with)
that I had been crippled with an infatuation,
and the only cure to what ailed me was your affection,
was beyond my very comprehension.
Of course, I should have realised
you would be unavailable.
I don’t know if you lied,
maliciously or with omission,
it does not matter,
for I promised to respect your answer
and to never bother you again.
I had every intention of obeying
the decision I had conceived,
and could even become accustomed
to never having you at all.
But what I cannot become accustomed to,
is having to see you endlessly once a week,
not a month after I asked
for your affection.
There you are,
every week without fail,
You needn’t say a word,
nor do anything;
your very existence pains me
because until I see you again,
I am free from my feelings for you.
Then, I see you,
and every emotion violently re-enters my heart
and I become overwhelmed
with the burdening knowledge
that never will you feel anything for me.
I cannot move on either,
for no woman could ever compare to you
while a piece of you
remains right here with me,
even after I have tried, without success,
to remove you like poison from a wound.
I know how unhealthy this is,
and I have tried to avoid you,
but every path, inevitably,
leads right back to where I am right now.
There may come a time
when I never see you again,
and I will be so glad for this,
because finally, I shall be free.
But if I ever did see you again,
this I could not take,
and again I would be doomed to feel for you,
a romance that could never in a million years
compare to any other emotion.
I guess what I am trying to say is;
I absolutely loathe you,
just as I loathe myself,
because I unconditionally love you
with all my heart and soul,
and until the day
that neither of us are fated to meet again,
I shall remain,
singularly and hopelessly devoted to you.
On this note,
allow me to write,
I am, if you shall have me,
faithfully forever and always yours.
Sincerely and with kind regards,
the writer of this here verse.
I would die, happily, if it meant I could hold you for but a moment,
before the end became so near.
I would sacrifice my soul to Lucifer himself,
if it meant those lips of yours,
even for the briefest of moments,
could penetrate my defenses and so gently touch mine.
I would spend every dollar I ever had to my name,
if it meant you could just look at me
and say ‘I know you are there young man,
and one day, in a future not yet written,
I will gladly be yours.’
I would rip apart this universe at a catastrophic level,
if it meant my efforts enabled me to gaze upon you tomorrow
for but an hour or more.
I would kill for you if you did ask,
and take the lives of millions if your attention I did garner,
once the war was won.
I would ignite a revolution
if it meant that anything would change,
and you may one day give a damn about my love for you.
I would tell you how I feel
if I believed that you would listen,
but you be blinded to my features,
and you be deaf to my words,
and I could scream the lines of this here poem,
but never would you look at me,
for you are you and I am me and never the two shall meet,
because our destinies dictate not this future,
but separate lives instead.
So I ask the cherub that shot me with an arrow soaked in eternal passion,
why was it I was fated to meet this woman,
when it is her I cannot romance,
for one can only truly love a person who happily loves them back,
and never are you going to love me.
The cherub does not answer;
he simply disappears,
as do you not a second later, never to return again,
for even if you knew my feelings,
another man you will always find;
not to maliciously break my heart every time you kiss another gentleman,
but because you will never recognise my face;
the face of the man of your dreams, masquerading as a stranger,
and although love, you may one day find,
it will only ever be pretend,
for no man shall ever love you, the way I always will.