lover in my head,
I wonder about you way too much.
Call me a psychotic overthinker,
but I know you’ll exist someday.
I think a lot about whether you’ll love in me the things I hate most
or if you’ll show me that there is nothing to hate.
What could your name possibly be?
Are you my age or
will we be a fusion of generations?
I hope you come from a different world too,
as mine gets too dark and boring most of the time;
you could be my escape.
Are you a frustrated artist too?
Do you appreciate art but can’t seem to perfect yours?
We could talk a lot about that,
and I could be your muse.
I haven’t found mine.
What are you into?
Dear possible significant other,
the truth is
I know nothing about you
except what’s mundane and expected,
like the amount of oxygen you need to breathe,
and that you dream about being loved too.
But I do know about our mutual dream
of holding hands
to face a cruel world that won’t feel too cruel through
becoming, growing, and hoping,
Future platonic crush,
nameless and ageless,
what we have is anonymous
and entirely invisible.
I don’t know your colors yet,
skin, eyes, hair.
I’ll love in black and white for now,
I’ll love blindly.
Oh but I do know something, pre-destined soulmate.
I know that
your heart must be a genuine one,
loyal and fair,
determined, but sensitive,
compassionate and passionate,
forgiving, but not too much –
for mine would never fall but for its kind.
I know that you exist somewhere.
How much longer will love make us wait?
Are you ever going to show up?