You're a memory buried deep in my subconscious, a memory so dear yet ephemeral that the owner decided to lock it away.
You're an experience that I would feel for a week and forgotten the next day.
A phantom memory, that's what you are. You occupy a space in my head, too much that what's all left is a silhouette.
However every after taste of a brief close proximity leaves me drunk in limerence.
This alcoholic fragrance, I routinely think of it. In between the days of our conversation.
It scares me because it's not just a mere admiration, can admiration spark again and again?
I can't call this true love nor an obsession, because what I feel for you is more complex than a fixed definition.
You're the comforting feeling of drinking hot chocolate on a rainy day whilst being covered in blanket.
You're the sensation of sheer excitement when I read my very first book.
You're the nostalgia of my childhood days,
and you're the streak of colors upon my blank canvas.
You're a forgotten memory that I wish I could reexperience over and over again.
You're the wind that softly brushes against my face after a storm.
Yet also the ominous presence that makes my stomach churn.
Convoluted as it may be, I can truly say that my desires for you are no longer so friendly.
I want to feel your warmth not in an overly romantic sense, just in a way that I would be enough to stop you in your tracks and look back.
You're a routine, you're a reoccurring memory,
perhaps made by my wishful thinking and what's left of me is a feeling that I can never name.
