Scribblings of the Opiated Sherpa

Don't think I think about you? Don't think I have you in my head? Don't think I want to see you again? Don't think it's possible? Let me tell you what I think. Think about your questions. Think about the chances. Think about the possibilities. Every song, Soft or hard, Love or hate, I think of you. Every movie I watch, I try to find, A resemblance, Of what I saw. All the girls on the street, I can't help but compare, Tall or small, No one can touch your status. During my day, Prime time evenings, In my dreams, You are in my head. You are in my hopes, My aspirations, My life, All the depths of my sub-conscience. These words, These thoughts, These feelings, Are screaming your name. How I can wish, For the rest of the day, For the rest of this year, For more time spent with you.

The buttons on the phone are telling me, The little voice in my head agrees continuously, I know I should and I will, But I can't help but think nervously. We are now good friends, And I've called times before. We don't dive down deep into each other, But I would like to dig down to the ground floor. I finally pick up the phone, I hold it and juggle the device. My thumb covers the button numbered one, This feeling won't pass, so a conversation will suffice. Once I pressed the first buttons, The rest comes a lot easier. The next moment could be the toughest, The phone rings and my greeting begins to sound cheesier. Who will be the one to pickup? There is only a fifty-fifty chance draw. I really hope it is she, For this call is for her and not to be flawed. I await the click sound of the reception, Time is so slow during my anxiety. Until someone picks up the phone, My pessimism believes it is someone else in her city. *****************************************************