When she asks me what I'm thinking about, the answer, though unspeakable, is always you. Or the idea of you. Or the promise of you. Or the feelings you've very purposely made me feel. Something about you, inevitably.
If I can't have you, I want it to stop. I want my stubborn mind to forget about you. I want my merciless, stupid heart to kick you out.
Because falling in love while already in love truly is the lover's worst nightmare; and the mourning of a love unrequited that disturbed a love requited is the loneliest of them all, its tears the most shameful.