Untitled

By : Me

I have an insatiable urge
To write about “you.”
The “you” that actually exist
Not in my head
But in real life.
The “you” that I don’t know
Because I’m too afraid to speak.
The “you” that I haven’t met
Because every time I see “you”
I get nervous and look away.
The “you” that I haven’t spoken to
Because whenever I get any type of confidence and decide that
‘Today is the day that I’ll speak up (or at least wave)’
“You” disappear and I don’t see “you” for days.
The “you” that has no name
-Well, not a name that I’ve gotten to know.
The “you” that makes my heart stop when we lock eyes
And my stomach turn when you look my way.
The “you” that I’m trying to ‘get over’
Because I’m convinced you’re seeing someone.
The “you” that I still wanna meet
Because, well, maybe you’re not
And if I miss another opportunity
I won’t even know what to do with myself.
The “you” that I’ve managed to write about
Without ever even hearing your voice.

Damn, now that’s some kind of grip
“You” have on “me.”