I tried to make you love me unbeknownst to the fact that love is like a disease and I was not your cure. The way your eyes lit up like the Californian sun radiated throughout my entire body and left me always wanting more. Darling, was the memo not clear? We were an unspoken and unwritten love. We were infinite.  We were a creation of beauty and disaster. We were like a lightning bolt just waiting to strike.

Then, we did.

Someone once said that if you love some one, to simply let them go. However, I did not let you go, you ran. I don't know why, I still don't. Love, don't fret, maybe someday our minds will be filled with less of the chaos that inevitably transformed into unrealistic fantasies about you and I. Maybe then, just maybe, we can find each other again one day. One day, a year from now. One day, 30 years from now. One day, in a universe unknown to us now, things will be different and you could actually love me like I dreamt in complete wonderment about loving you.

Sometimes I wish I never met you. Sometimes the enigmatic thoughts that clouded my mind brought me to a sublime place of happiness, where I almost thought that maybe you did love me too. Maybe the sorrow lived in a place in my head that I didn't discover until I met you. All I ask of you is please, don't make me feel crazy. You were an artist of many amazing creations, and although, I was not your favorite color, didn't I still make up a part of your palette? Did you not still see me when you looked up into the sunset? Was my mind not beautiful? Did I not compare? An artist is supposed to see the beauty in everything. Was it absent in me?

Was the complete and utter beauty and allure absent in us?

These are the thoughts that cloud my head at 2 a.m. when I lie in bed wondering if you're maybe, just maybe, thinking about me too.