The Terrible Trouble Poem by Lucas German

The terrible trouble is that I run free in my mind, where a drifting slumberous thought turns material for a moment and the reality to my perceptions presents me with the fact of you, and I feel the joy. I feel my real lips curve into a smile, and I feel the ball in my chest release and warm, radiating the most comfortable tingle outward through my skin and into the universe which must in it's entirety be a part of my collapse back to an outer reality in which my body resides, and in which my brief foray into a simulated wish-come-true is no more true than any other hopeful longing of any lovestruck boy. The trouble is in the remembering, for though you peel back the layers of illusion with a memory, this current reality of a personal connection with limits and restrictions has forced a fractal into a beautifully decorated box without the capacity to comprehend of holding it.

Without even a sliver of doubt, my certainty of our continued separation has itself continued unimpeachable, even standing resolute against the force of my diligently contained appreciation of each and every aspect of your character and person. Imagine then as each appreciation is given hope of a chance to demonstrate, and as each element of my particular harmless insanity engages and forces me to run a mile to discharge enough energy that I can take the time to slowly think over my thoughts and write down the very best ones in some sort of order that I sincerely hope gives you a slightly more intimate connection with the most distant source of my being.

I hope that you know you, both so you can know what I see, and so when you know me you will know that we could be, if you wanted to be, in harmony.