Oh but it's hopeless.
Fight it, don't fight it,
it makes no difference.
Pursue you, ignore you,
See you, obscure you,
there is no change.
I crave you.
I think you.
I speak you.
I love you.

I am not in the habit 

of expecting life's casual accidents

to hold purpose or yield use,

but I am frustrated, nonetheless,

that I must carry on with this insane internal tirade of forlorn affection

for no good.

It's enough to send me after you again. 

Today you saw it in me,

and I saw it in you too. 

If it is not going away any time soon,

then fuck it,

I might as well let it loose.