For Cathie Poem by Matthew English

To my dearest Cathie,
why do i write? for what purpose is this writing to you? i write before i’ve even decided whether i’ll even send it to you. Maybe this is just like a diary entry; where i can store all my emotions and feelings. Maybe it makes this all so much more real; or just amplifies the torment i feel every living day i can’t be with you because I’m scared and well, because you’re too good for me.

Until now i have just watched you.. no, admired you from a distance. I see every outfit you wear that suits your body shape, the colours that bring out your eyes and patterns that just draw attention to your beauty. I see every step you take; the elegant placing of your feet as you meander around. You look so natural; when people talk about the beauty of nature, i think about the beauty that is you.

Everything you touch becomes sacred; what was once a pencil becomes a sacred tool you manipulate in such a way that captures me. I use them as stepping stones to follow my life. I wish i could just collect every everyday item you touch and keep them. The knowledge that you have touched them makes them so sacred and eternal. Even locked away under my bed they emit an aura that i can absorb and be transferred to a place of pure desire, in the deepest depths of my dreams.

In the pitch darkness i lay in bed, my pupils fully dilated trying to absorb any form of light in what remains and empty darkness. People say when somewhere is so dark you begin to hallucinate and see whats deep inside you; be it fears or just the ability to reflect on the emotion that is held in the deepest depths of your mind. This is a place where my dreams become reality. I can see you there next to me. I can see your eyes shining like bright stars in the night sky. You appear so real; real enough for me to touch and hold you. That’s all i want to do, hold you; close and tight to my body, so i can feel you against me- and know you’ll always be there for me.

I know this is a petty pipe-dream; but it’s my life. My sad and tortured life, where all i can do is metaphorically reach out or write and reflect in empty letters and poetry.

Maybe one day i can say all this, in real words, with real meaning to you. Whether i just pluck the courage to place this in a postbox or your place in class, or confront you face to face, speak to you in person.

But for now all i have is my dreams and all i can do is imagine.

Adieu~