Quietly, I tell myself it isn't all that bad to miss someone...that feeling lingers deep in the pit of my stomach, curling viciously onto me in a way that makes it almost seem beautiful. A sense of proof-a proof in my existence-lives deep down in that feeling. I miss you though I don't know you, I can't fathom your name or how you look when you laugh.
I cant remind myself of how you smell or what it feels like to walk beside you in silence, in those moments where all I want is to look at you.
But I miss you.
I don't want to love you already but I suppose I do, and I suppose its much more than love too. Its more like a KNOWING that you're out there walking around the world, you cant know me.
Sometimes in crowded places I have to stop and just breathe, because it FEELS as if you were there, as if the space around me has encased itself in your bubble.
And I miss you dearly, and when its at its worse I write to you.
But I don't know you.
So here is to you, the boy I have not yet met.