If days could die,
well you know ours would barely be alive.
and for years I searched for my feelings,
for months I tried to ask myself the nagging,
desperate question, the painful query
lumping itself like a jawbreaker in my throat.
For weeks it spoke and twisted,
“well what are you, what are you to me?
And tell me, what is this feeling;
this ever-live feeling that just won’t stop breathing?”

I wondered of obsession,
as I peered around the corner in subtle inconspicuousness,
unnoticeable as 17-letter words, and ten times as bland;
as I listened through the door, through the thick buzzing air,
past every voice for the frequency of yours, the low, boiling croon;
as I sat scribbling your name on every line my eyes met,
twisting the letters around hearts and scribbling over it in ashamed loops;
as I clicked and quivered my tongue to spell your name in incessant adoration,
glaringly ignoring the sighs that were exhausted with my fascination.
(and I tried to follow you and find you like every good stalker, tried to scare you into staying within reach, but I could not disturb you without feeling unusual, no, you are no obsession.)

I considered addiction,
the way I wrapped my routine around your own just to ache for one look,
craving the shine in your eyes to simply desire the drear in mine;
the way I needed you to hurt me so I would remember how much
I needed you to hurt me;
the way, oh the foolish way I would say I was done with you, simply fed-up,
as I planned the next move I would make to get closer to you – (just one more time);
the way I pumped you into my blood in intravenous incessancy,
prodding the growing scab ‘til my veins refused to work in conditions so dreary.
(and I tried to replace you just like every good addict, tried to put something worse in your place, but you bubbled through like no drug I’ve ever known, no, you are no addiction)

I pondered love,
when my heart jumped and my stomach sunk at the magnitude of your name,
each grandiose loop and line weighing heavy on my mind;
when I tried to smile even as you held a softer hand than mine,
because really, I wanted you to be glowing just like the sunlight;
when I felt the tugging feeling of my heart squeezed between your fingers,
as if every word you spoke was somehow another directive for my misled life;
when I would have figured out the science of moving planets if you asked me to,
would have hunched over papers day and night just to click on the smile switch
(and I tried not to love you
            for once, I really, really tried.)

And if the past would die,
well you know the present could be alive.
and for years I tried to trap my feelings,
for months I tried to escape the nagging,
desperate question, the painful query
spreading itself like a disease in my brain.
For weeks it choked and persisted,
“well what are you, what are you to me?
And tell me, what is this feeling;
this ever-live feeling that just won’t stop breathing?”