Is to think about you,
I search for the tiniest of our memories
in the remotest corners of my heart
stringing them along in
a new narrative
every day
every night
like a mini theatre in my head,
I watch the same films,
same characters,
same scenes,
reach the same conclusion.

My new hobby
is to have imaginary conversations with you,
even though mostly,
in reality,
you spoke too much
and I didn’t at all
but now I say it all;
your part
my part –
things we would have never said
things we would have never done,
You are so painfully interesting in my imagination
I long
and I long
wishing that you are near and real,
tangible,
lovable,
knowing perfectly that if you are with me
all your imperfections are real too.

My new hobby
is to idealize you
and then to wonder how you aren’t ideal in fact,
my new hobby
is to clutch your memories close to my heart
where no one can steal them,
my new hobby
is to wonder
whether to tell
or not to tell;
whether to text
or not to text;
What even?
Why even?
How even?
Rather be satisfied
with my mental conversations
and everyday memories screenings
than to awkwardly reveal my secrets to you,
What to do?
What to even expect?
Would you even understand what I mean?
I am scared that in the end, you will leave me on seen.

Nevermind though,
You are and you will still be in my thoughts.
Silent suffering,
Mysterious rejoice,
It seems that’s my new hobby.