You've been on my mind for the better part of a year.
There's no way to explain it, everything reminds me of you. Everysighteverysoundeverymotionevery train of thought begins or ends with you. You have become the Penn Station of my consciousness.
I don't even know you. That's not true. But it is. You are.
I can never tell if my heart beats with excitement or fear, probably both. Fear is a type of excitement, right? You uplift, you hold, you fall so beautifully.
My mind is a string you've pulled tight enough to play a tune, a song of joy, tension, and nervous expectation. Not a love song though,
Never a love song.
I'm not worthy to write yours. I'm not worthy to write your anything.
I'm hardly worth the paper you write on.
That's not true. But it is. You are.
I guess I'll just write on.
Right on.