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You are obsession.
Possession.
Unyielding want.
I feel, though we've yet to know,
that I know your every want, desire, pleasure.
I make assumptions of you,
dream of a moment of togetherness that has yet to happen.
The landscape of my life yields a new fulfillment, a new idea.
Yet.
It is a dangerous game,
fueled only by my own mind.
It is unreal.
You are a lovely, delicious escape.
The next thing to fulfill me until you
disappear into the blackness like all the others.
I want so much to experience my life in
the present time, without dreaming of your eyes,
your silent gaze, each moment we've had
together, however pained and unreal.
Yet.
Yet...
You remain.
Your young frame.
Your soulful eyes.
Your brooding ideals and brilliant mind.
You are the subject,
I am the artist.
How I wish I could paint myself into two places at once.
Only to experience life twice.

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I am stunted.
Unable to function like the grown person that I am.
Yet.
Denying a desire I feel would be false,
and I cannot see my present life without it.
An unhealthy want.
A feeling I have felt many times over.
Substitution for feeling unhappy for so many years?
What is it?
Is there something I can fill it with?
Something that isn't you?
You, the nameless boy with many faces
who I've wondered about for a lifetime.
Unable to know your touch or voice or scent.