Pictures of him...

I look for him in wrong places.

Craft his face according to pieces of what I admire in others.

I don’t know you, yet I already see you.

I have imagined the wonder of your voice, though I hold no idea of you.

Envy, jealousy consumes my heart, when in sight of those who’ve stolen my painting of love.
What I’ve created falsely as my love story.

Yet I don’t know my love story because it hasn’t been born.

My heart still needs to quieten down and not overplay its role, it hasn’t been called up on stage yet.

I find my mind designing imaginary characters of you, of what you’d say and how you’d say and how you’d act.

It’s become sickening and desperate.

I want none of it, my reality is far from this unclear and unknown fantasy.

I have no control of you yet I feel I already have you.

That shreds my heart because I still feel sad and lonely.

I must get acquainted with myself, forgive myself, give myself love and acknowledge my piece of worth.

I’ve locked my faith neatly in my heart, hope awakens my heart each day.

Anticipating the unknown and waiting with bated breath taints the possibility of fully living.

I want this love others speak of, the real love that’s only understood by those sharing it.

The kind that’s spoken through stolen looks in a crowded room, the kind of love that appreciates the other’s heartbeat.

That kind that holds high the smiles and encouragement shared, without giving it much effort.