The other day I wondered, who you spent Valentine's Day with?
Was it a him?
Was it a her?
I wondered the other day, was that look for me, or was that look at me?
Did I mis-judge your smile?
Your stare. That stare, was it in my mind?
The other day I wondered, if you knew, I once stared (and stared) ,
and stared, at the back of your neck, waiting to ask if you needed a seat.
I lie, I just wanted to know if you needed my seat. Instead, I sat.
And I sat. And I sat, eyes closed, listening, listening, listening.
I listened to your voice.
I watched. I watched as you found another, a seat that is.
Gone.
My first of, what I now know, many chances, gone.
I wondered the other day what it would be like to lay next to you. No I lie, I wondered what it would be like to lay with you, entangled, enveloped; to look in your eyes; to kiss your lips, your neck; to touch your skin;
To...
To...
To...
The other day I wondered,
do you even know,
I exist?
I like this one. Self explosive but then insecure, after being vulnerable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The admittance of an infatuation which has nonetheless provided the 'feeler' with some touching fantasies as to what love would be like with his 'object.'