not so good

I am not so good at waiting.
I am turmoiled but I don't even have a topic really to write poetry about.
just unrequited love.
just waiting and yearning and hoping against hope.
I don't know how people can do this for weeks and months at a time
I'm pretty sure I'd die from high blood pressure or ulcers or aneurysms or something.
I think unrequited love is like having a sore heart.
it's not broken, just a little swollen and achy - it spreads.
I told myself I wasn't going to stress about this,
that it's just a chance,
wishes that I'm throwing to the wind in hopes that they'll carry to him,
but they're just getting blown back in the window at me.
I was too honest with myself, too quickly.
I know I know he's busy
but if I could only know what he's thinking -
actually, I don't think knowing that he doesn't care would change anything
that's what's so strange about this whole thing.
for once, my love is pure and unselfish.
oh, the things I would give up for you.

here are some of my thoughts:
I wish I knew what you like to eat so I could bring you some lunch while you're studying so hard.
I wonder what you're working on and what your papers are about.
I wish I could come study with you, just be near you, and it wouldn't be weird at all.
I hope every night that by the time I am brushing my teeth and blowing you a kiss at the window that you are already asleep because you need it more than I do.
I have given up seeing you at dinners - you are so busy these days that no matter how many times the door opens, it's never you - but I still want to dress well and look good, just in case I happen to see you.
I imagine watching our movie together and falling asleep on your shoulder, even though I never fall asleep in movies, especially not if I could be sitting next to you, so I guess I just want to sleep on your shoulder.
I listen to some of your favorite music that is also some of my favorite music and imagine you walking home past my open window and hearing it drift out and having it brighten your day.
I think about the way you space your words while you talk and the way you look at people while they're talking and the way sometimes your laugh doesn't spread to your eyes and the way your hands rest on things, but I can't remember how you walk.

I want to know you as well as I know myself.

(did I really post this? I did. we have reached a new level of openness, my friends.)