Am I crazy? Or just a little unwell? I've been making friends with shadows on my wall and they keep taking your shape and talk to me. In your sweetest voice they tell me things I need to hear and that resonate in my heart. I talk to you all the time, even in my sleep and your loving arms carry me away to the land of my dreams. When I touch your shadow on my wall it feels as soft as your peachy skin and your vibrant radiance swallows me whole. Your warmth rushes into me and makes my blood flow again. My every fibre pulses and longs for your essence, to be surrounded, to be enclosed in you, to love you so much I'll use myself up.
You make me, break me, let me tremble and set me free. My inner child is safe with you, my sober mind is drunk on you, my wandering mind rests in your thoughts. You have saved me from everything that is not here. The mere vision of you in my head awoke in me a passion feeding on itself. I make love to you every night and I do it unitl I cannot tell where your body ends and my own body begins, until I am you and not my desolate self, until there is no me anymore, there's only you. And you is all there has to be, for there is nothing that is not in you but that I would need. You are you so well, it amazes me. "You" has no other meaning than you. Other people are no "you". They are "hes" and "shes" and "its" and you are You. Alive. Living. Lively. Lovely. Loved. You. Every day I dream you anew and you overwhelm me being you.
I am addicted to your presence, your aura, your existence. You're intoxicatingly beautiful, my favorite work of art. You're everything I need to know, everything I have ever known.
And you're in my room, safe with me. And I'm not crazy. I'm just a little unwell.
Copyright February 2005 (inspired by Matchbox Twenty and Charles Bukowski)
