Only you. Always you.

I think of you now almost all the time.
It’s like an obsession. A hobby, perhaps.
I’m like a teenage girl with black hair
Who wears too-much eyeliner
And takes photos of her feet.

Except I don’t dream about 15.1 megapixels,
And I don’t bore my friends with talk of tripods.
I dream about you. Only you. Always you.

It’s really quite awkward, loving your friend.
Especially a friend such as you.
You see, you’re not normal. In fact
You’re the oddest boy I know.
(I think that’s what makes me love you)
And I never really know what you’re thinking.

You brought strawberries to that picnic.
You say you hate your cat, but
You are so tender when you tickle her paws.
You read books. So many books.
How many other boys read books nowadays?
But you run, you run, you run.
You run around your country lanes each night.

You told me before my exam
That I was better than I thought.
And when I’m sad, you’re there.
Do you even realise you’re doing it?
I don’t think so.

You’re going away.
You’ll find another life.
Another messed up weirdo to comfort.
And she’ll love you too.
But unlike with me you’ll love her back.
And I will smile. And move on (apparently)
But really, it’s you.
Only you.
Always you.