There's something about my heart
and quantum physics, I forgot...

A decade of desires
has sunken into bedsheets...

I am a story;
not a number...

My feelings for you are like poems,
cast into a shameful teenage drawer...

Time's tapping
against my tea cup...

I still wake up
with a fire for you...

"It's not my fault you're feeling this way."
And it's not - but your coping mechanism...

It has to be me - the only anti-depressant -
grinding gratitude journals into routines...

His hello isn't just a hello.
It's the echo of his 'no...

I don't want to speak in circles anymore,
and lose visitors in my colourless corridors...

Heart beats, like a thunderstorm.
I wake with the perspiration...

His hello is just that:
a hello. No flushed cheeks...