Is It Too Desperate To Write This About You?

Your mind works in curious ways, 
like the sun only ever reaches it on the days when you let your guard down.
Your optimism is much more rare lately.

 

You used to dream about the stars with me, 
except it was never really with me, was it?
You were always off in your own world, lightyears apart from me.
I never needed the stars, though.
Just you.

 

It feels like it's been years since you were last yourself, 
or, at least, the self I once loved.
You always insisted it was infatuation, but I knew better.
I still know better.
That always bothered you-- the way I knew things.
You never wanted anyone to figure you out, 
and I won't apologize for doing just that.

 

I saw the way you looked at the passing cars. 
The way you looked as if you would rather risk jumping into them instead of ride to your next appointment.
I could never blame you, though. 
Your needs lied elsewhere, while mine were always with you. 

 

It has never been so hard to give something up, 
but I wouldn't know about giving up like you would. 
I'm careful not to say that you're an addiction,
because I know you're much more familiar with that than I am.
The only way I could describe you was when we stood on the shoreline on a still evening,
and I couldn't tell the difference between you and your reflection. 
Need means something else to you.

 

You were never who you wanted to be, 
but that was always alright with me.
I wish you'd seen that. 
I wish you'd noticed me;
I needed you to notice me.

 

I wanted to help you, to be there,
but you and I both know there was no saving you in anything I could provide.
It's not me, and it's not you.
I guess it was always just time.

 

Time has an unusual sense of humor,
the way it makes you think maybe just maybe,
but we shoud know better than that by now.
Should. 

 

Quite some time has passed since the last time you thought of me.
I try to remind you once in a while,
but I have no evidence that it's worked.
I keep putting thoughts inside your head that only I can read.
That's not fair to either of us.

 

I wish I would have told you when we were younger,
when your feelings weren't compromised.
Just because I never said anything doesn't mean I never felt anything.
Because I did.
I do.

 

The thing is that it has always only ever been you.
If I had one more choice to make before my life were to end,
I would choose you again and again.

This poem is about: 
Me

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