I am constantly influenced by the thought of you missing me.
One week or eighteen minutes ago. Do you wonder what I am doing?
Are your thoughts full of me even though you constantly deny me?
I am full of it, bursting at the seams, wondering if you are thinking of me.
It is a sickness, a disease; it started the first moment you spoke to me.
It’s delightful, this sickness, it is utterly fulfilling even while one-sided,
I’ve never experienced such a neglectful feeling.