[your name]

Sometimes I wonder what you would do if you knew.  How you would react if you understood how I feel.  What you would think if you knew that right now I'm standing here in the shower, banging my proverbial head against the wall, because it's 2 am and I just can't stop thinking about you.  And I try to push these thoughts away, but I can't.  The stupid thoughts remind me of the stupid acne that pops up on my face whenever I'm stressed, and just like the thoughts of you, no matter how I try they just keep coming back. 

I wish it wasn't like this.  If I could, I would write all of my feelings down into books and put them on the shelf.  Then I wouldn't have to think about you unless I read them.  And even then, it would be like trying to imagine someone else's life; you would just be a character in a story, not an actual person that I care about.  You couldn't affect me.

I wish I could package up all my emotions into boxes and hide them away somewhere.  I'd put them in my closet on the top shelf, so nobody could get at them easily, and only take them out when I had to prove to someone that I am indeed a person.  They would sit up there, forgotten and collecting dust, just like the memory of you. 

Maybe I could just re-program myself to not think of you;  write over the code in my brain, deleting every mention of your name and every image of your face.  Maybe the next time someone mentions you, it won't send me into a infinite loop of thinking and thinking and thinking and thinking about you.  You'd just be a red little error message; a command that I don't understand.

Or perhaps I could take them and transform them into drugs.  It would be appropriate, since you're certainly more addicting than heroine anyway.  I would stay away from them most of the time, maybe take them once a year.  Yes, that's it: I'd have a holiday to celebrate my independence from feelings, and would inject myself with them for one short day just to remind myself how horrible it was to feel.

But unfortunately, that's not how it works.  That's not where the thoughts of you lie. 

Instead, they're in the icy wind that blows against my face as I run alone.  I pass by all the places that we walked together, and I can't decide which is more painful: the cold in my face or the cold in my heart.

Instead, they're in the silence that I've now grown used to as I drive home.  I can't turn on the radio anymore, because they'll only be playing stupid, annoying songs about people being in love.  Either that or they'll play that one that makes me think of you, and it'll wreck me.

Instead, they're in the streams of water flowing out of my showerhead, cleaning me, covering me.  Part of me is terrified of drowning in them, and another part of me welcomes it.  But both parts agree that it's nice that it hides our tears.

Instead they're in every one of those little shades of color in your eyes, that somehow mix together to create a masterpiece that is nearly impossible to look away from.  And as you stare back at me with eyes that look like they could see into my soul, I wonder, what if it was true?  What would you do, if you knew?