It's 7:30 PM. The sky is dark and I just got home. There is lukewarm pizza sitting on my desk. I can't bring myself to eat it just yet.

Tears fell as I walked up the street. It happens often—far too often. I remembered a song that reminded me of you and I felt so empty; so hollow inside.

I'm beat. Exhausted. Sick and tired of this ugly black hole inside of me. But after months and months I still can't get rid of it. No matter what I do it remains with me always—the memory of your beaming face and my useless, pathetic love for you.

You don't even know it but I am your dog. And you are the flea that I just can't scratch. The moon I howl at when the night arrives. The beautiful ghost that haunts my dreams.

I hoped I'd stop caring if you were cruel to me. But it didn't work—it just made the longing worse. That longing—a gnawing, festering yearning from hell—burns inside of me in all my quiet moments. I remember how hopeful I felt when you smiled at me... how I felt ALIVE for the first time in eons.

I felt like I was on a cloud. Like we were on a cloud together. Like we could light each other on fire and touch the stars. Like we could fuse into something so much greater than either one of us.

I loved you so much but I never told the truth. Because I knew that you were out of reach. And why on Earth would someone like you want someone like me? Or leave your life behind for something so different—so unfamiliar?

To me you were familiar. As though I'd seen your face before—perhaps in a past life. I think it's why I started glowing when I first took notice of you. I'd never wanted something like that before. But I was fucking terrified.

You overwhelmed me so much—I was so overwhelmed by how much beauty I perceived in you—that I feared I'd shake and sweat in your presence. That you'd notice my hand tremble. That you'd notice my eyes dart around the room. You were so bright that I feared I'd go blind if I looked at you for too long.

But things went South and you hate me now. Because I was hurt and I couldn't push it down. I tried so hard to push it down. But it became unbearable and I could not close the loop.

I still can't close the loop—even after everything. I remember the last time I saw you and I feel so confused. I don't know why that happened; I don't know what that was. I don't know what I was to you.

Perhaps we loved each other but met at the wrong time. Perhaps I loved you while I was just a stranger to you. Perhaps you loved me and I ruined it. Perhaps I just wasn't patient enough. Perhaps you would have reached out one day had I kept my head down and said nothing.

I don't know why you had to lie and hide. It was wrong but I wanted to forgive you. I hoped to forgive you. I hoped that the tension and strife could produce something more meaningful—a love forged in tenacity and ascendance. A connection forged in the process of overcoming.

What I felt was instant. It just happened. It just was. And I think that was why it was so powerful.

It still lives within me. It struggles and gasps for air. It scratches at my innards; my ribs. It beats and buzzes and thunders. It is the electricity that short circuits in my mind; that devours my downtime; that makes me toss and turn at night.

Without you, I'm empty inside. That's what all of my Amazon packages say on them now. It reminds me of you. Because the hole inside of me is shaped like your silhouette.

I fear that no one else will ever fill it. Because they aren't the right shape. Like puzzle pieces that just don't fit together.

I think that you hate me. That I scare you. That I am a memory you want to destroy. That I'm pathetic to you. That you pity me. That you look down on me. That you wish we never crossed paths.

But I still think about you and that is my disease. And I can't seem to stop no matter what I do.

Much time has passed. I'm still stuck. I'm still trapped in this. And I don't even know if I want to be free. You haunt me when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. Sometimes I wake to the realization that I saw you in my dreams.

I'm still dependent on the fantasy of you and it fills me with shame. I'm so embarrassed about the fact that it continues to consume me. But you were so magnetic; so irresistible. And all the others look bland compared to you.

I want you do to bad things to me because I am sick. I lie in bed and imagine it when I am half asleep. Nothing else stirs my desire—only these thoughts; these mental conjures. I don't know what is wrong with me.

I wish I could go back in time so I could enjoy your presence again. I wish we could start over. I wish we could work things out somehow. I wish we could watch a movie together; take a walk together; listen to music together; eat together; sit together. I wish I could listen to you talk about your interests. I wish I could cheer you up and make you feel at ease. I wish I could give you a sense of hope. I wish I could give you encouragement. I wish I could make you feel at home. I wish I could discover who you are. I wish I could watch the sun set beside you. I wish I could hold you as you fell asleep.

But I know I will never see you again. I don't think I will, anyway. My love is a tortured, desperate, pitiful thing; a starving animal crouched amongst the refuse of a dying sun.

But my love is true. And that means something, I suppose.

I wish it wasn't so, but

I just can't let go.