Gin.
I don't know where you are. Nor what you're doing. With whom.
When you're near there's something - everything - between us. Then we part and I keep waiting, hurting. You don't inform me about what you're doing.
You have duties. Sorrow. Pain. So do I.
You don't recognise me as who I am. Gin.
It hurts.
Can't you see I hurt?
Do you think of me when you're absorbed in your own affairs?
Do you need to see me? I think so. But how much time do you offer me? How much energy, spirit.
I feel so much. When we're close and alone I can't keep from touching you.
This passion between us is so precious. Not only for me, that I know.
Can't you give me more of you? I'm greedy. I want it all.
I want you to love me without hesitation and you do. But I also want to live without this pauses in which I cease to matter, when you're far away. You never leave my mind completely. Why can't it be the same the other way round?
Why do you fill me with longing? With love and tender feelings. Why do I hope every time you leave? Why do I still trust you? Why does my heart break every time you leave me behind without any kind of message? And why is everything almost alright again as soon as we meet and hold each other?
How come I know you love me?
Why is this world so crazy? And my heart. There's little left of the heart it once was. Sharp edges and blades of the shattered whole that loves you deeply still.
I hate my hoping and I'm disgusted at my doubts. And I seek to flee my fears.
Why does it hurt so much?
Ending this whole mess would take but a little effort, a word or two and you'd know, but when our eyes meet I can but smile and love and hope a little more.