For You, Partially.

Do you know how lovely you are? Who adores you and how much they do? Just thinking about your happiness makes me smile. You are a concept to me, the very nature of what I believe all people should possess. Inside of you is something that is incredibly hard to put a title on; it can't be found in the way you walk, the words you speak, the silent dysfunction that stands as our common ground. It's all a bit blurry when I try to focus down on it, but I can tell that our hands still feel fabrics the same way. I'd hate to assume you understand the shallow depth to which these thoughts reach, but I allow myself to anyway, if only to soothe a worried mind. Sometimes, in a state other than the one I currently control, I see you through a lens. And as much as I try to take the picture, pressing the capture button over and over again, I simply cannot contain you. There is no explaining you, and at times I like to believe you're more of a thought than a substance. I like to consider how your dreams became what they are today, and admire the way you're achieving them all. Success is a funny word, because currently I see you as a memory that won't be suppressed, a thought that won't be shoved, a note that simply won't end. Then after all the thinking I do concerning you, I see you as an individual, as something I might have never been able to know, an entity entirely separate from the one I smile at. It's only when the light of day begins to creep through my open window shades that I realize these kind of thoughts produce nothing but anguish, and I am far too passive to assume that type of behavior. I have a funny feeling that I might never be able to fully forget this.