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.

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