A Letter

Dear You,

Yes, you. You intoxicating,

thrilling, and destructive thing you.

We need to talk.

I don’t know if it’s because of lack of time

lack of space in my brain

or lack of something else.

But I didn’t really think of you for a whole day

and I was proud.

And then I was ashamed. Ashamed of the pride. Because

why in the world should not thinking

of you be a thing for pride?

When did you highjack my mind, thoughts and body?

Why can you pull me in with just your presence?

Why can I not control myself? My heart double timed

when I saw you were here. And my eyes constantly search

when I am somewhere you should be.

It’s exhausting, scary, and confusing as fuck.

When I don’t see you, you aren’t the constant presence

in the back of my mind.

I am (momentarily) free

without even realizing it.

And then you are there, in my heart and my mind,

your grip so tight that I’m still thinking of you

six hours later

It fucks with me, this grip you have

over my heart (beating so fast when I catch a glimpes of you)

my mind (wanting to poke you, steal your hat,

to frame your face and kiss you)

my body (I can still feel your lips on mine, weeks after)

I thought the grip was loosening,

but no. It’s just as strong as ever

and I’m just as confused as ever.

How (and why) do you make me feel this way?

When the thought of guys (and things with guys)

unnerves me to no end.

What give you the right?

Honestly,

Yours truly