I have no idea what I would do if you were actually available, that’s how impossible this all is.

For some reason I think that if I focus on you loving me back hard enough, if I project enough mental energy out into the ether, somehow the molecules of the cosmos will ideally shift and you’ll understand how I feel, and it’ll change you.

I realize this means I’m back in middle school and have learned nothing about how love works since, but I try the mental energy move anyway. It’s not rational but it can’t hurt.

I’m trying to come up with normal things to text you so I can keep texting you without making it seem like I’m, you know, texting you, even though your name pops up on my phone and my heart leaps straight into my throat like a leaping salmon. It’s not like you ever have anything groundbreaking to tell me but I still feel like it’s the Queen asking me to tea when I open your messages.

I’ve already dreamt about you twice and I never remember my dreams so I know this must be something truly special, yes I know how crazy that sounds. Doesn’t make me want to pop an Ambien and go to bed early any less, though.

A minute ago I was wrapped tight in your arms and couldn’t believe my good fortune and now I’m awake and you’re not there, and not only that the bed we were in a minute ago was a different color than my actual bed, that’s how unreal. But a minute ago you were there, and real, and even if it’s all in my head that minute still makes me want to sleep forever.

Isn’t that where we experience things anyway, in our heads? Think about it. This whole crazy world is the proverbial vat and we’re just the brains floating around in it in our ridiculous skin suits.

All the criteria I need met, have needed met, out the window, I don’t care. I don’t care. I just want you and I don’t care if you fit neatly into my life like a perfectly proportioned end table. I don’t care if you’ve got a habit of chain-smoking the cigarettes that give me a headache, don’t even care if you can properly structure a sentence. There’s something about you that dismantles everything I thought I knew about attraction and admittedly part of the reason I’m in love with you and I hate it is because you are an enormous non sequitur.

And nothing in these words reads like love but it’s not lust or like or any other word that’s not love either, there’s no other word for how I feel, no word for when I’m around you unnerved and resplendent in the heart of light and silent, and I don’t want to choose another word because it wouldn’t be the first time my language has failed.

I just want to be in your arms again so I think I’ll go back to sleep.