It's sick how much I'm still in love with you.
It's astonishing, how I've memorized your looks.
The one's you give when you're upset or unrealistically joyous, which come about much more often than the prior.
I've ingrained your being into mine.
Your essence has been captured by me.
Bottled, inspected, labeled and sold.
You've been shipped off...
I have no idea how many of these I've written to you.
After a while you lose count.
You never lost anything.
You always kept everything right in the palm of your hands. Simple and concise.
No reason to complicate things...until me.
You don't know what you've done. But it's not your fault. You couldn't hurt me, anyone, if you tried.
You've only ever thrown teapots.
© m.f. /Roxywaters Apr. 2011
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