To the One I Will Never Meet

To the One I Will Never Meet,

I feel a yearning,
an ever-present burning
but that is not returning
certainly not from another,
one I fear I would only smother.
“Love hurts,” but this is not love,
I dare not even call it lust;
I do not even know her.
I see her in my mind
but she has not seen me.
No, not one single time.

I long for an organ that works
not this heart that only makes us hurt.
I allow the mind to play tricks on me
in moments of utter weakness,
moments I would much rather forget;
rather than be upset. Do you catch my drift?

To the one I have never met
yet for many hours I solemnly sit,
imagining what you look like
and hoping there is nothing in my eye;
for that would obstruct my view
thus keeping me from recognizing you.
Yet how do I know the truth,
that you’re not some other “her”
and the lady across the street is actually you?

I never recall feeling this way
until it is happening again,
and nothing is happening again.

I have never believed in love
and if I did,
it certainly would not come from above.
You see, I am short,
and with this proportion,
I would need a stool or a ladder to reach it,
to beseech this....
....love?

-Brian Shuffett
January 23rd, 2008