i wrote a valentines poem for her
but not her specifically
just subtle hints of "like"
with a tinge of a hope of someting more
she read a poem in response
or at least, response in my head.
i kicked myself
for how many times will i have to swear myself off
of obsessing
of desiring the wrong girl
of creating relationships, that dont exist.
in reality we were just two poets writing of unrequited love.
in my mind
we were two lovers sending secret messages to one another
messages that no one knew of but us.
as she walked away at the end of the night
i yelled from across the room "hey happy valentines, kid"
she made a gun from her finger, gave a wink and replied "you too"
and that was that.
and that is all that will be
just imaginary messages
secret sonnets of the soul that reside in daydreams of today, and regrets of tomorrow.
the greatest miracle God can, or will ever perform will be finding me a wife.
8:01 a.m. - 1997-09-20
Recent entries:
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