It's a very strange feeling.
I'm not sure if even my best poetry
could begin to chip away at the iceberg of explanations.
It's seeing a picture of you, smiling, and smiling back,
as if that was your face lighting up for me.
It's listening to your song, and remembering how your body moved
when you played,
not how your body moved
It's hearing about the amazing things your hands have made,
and not thinking about the way your hands felt
on my skin.
It's not forgetting, all those memories are there and safe
tucked away where I can't erase.
It's not moving on, it's accepting
I love you,
but I am not in love with you.
I care about you, but I will never go so far as to touch you
to let you know.
Of course, I'll never know how it is for you,
but I'd like to think you are aware of me too,
like two people going for a high five
but missing each other on purpose
because the pain of that loud clap
isn't really worth it.
But then, maybe I'm just delusional.
It's a very strange feeling indeed.