I do it Over and Over

 I wasted so much time thinking about you:

    time I'll never get back.

You should be flattered.

You should also be surprised, though,

Because surely you know 

That you are only mildly interesting.

I know I'm surprised.

Surprised that I assigned such hope to something so hopeless,

once again.

I mean, I guess I do it all the time

-over and over-

And I'm shocked anew each time.

I do it because of the longing

the wanting without having

reaching, grasping

gasping

for ultimate and all-consuming connection

It's a hope that I hold onto

even though all it does is hurt me.

And I know this.

And I've known it all along.