It's all over from where I stand, isn't it?
But it won't ever be. It's an ongoing battle between want and need, and cold rationality. It comes knocking and my mind during my waking dreams, barging through the closed door and painting my world over with white. Erasing you.
Somehow my subconscious tricks it away though, like a will o' the wisp taunting and teasing and flirting across dangerous moors, until it's far enough away that you return, draping yourself over the neurons of my brain and filling my synapses with nothing but thoughts of you - your smile, your hair, your light dusting of freckles, the dress you wear and the coffee you drink and the books you run your fingers over but never buy. Inescapable.
I could lose myself in losing you.