(Poem) Irrationally Crushed

What does it mean to love? 
To be crazy, delirious. To be invigorated
by this synaptic explosion of feeling. This emotion—
I’ve never felt it before. I don’t know what it means
when my body lurches forward,
when my face flushes red,
when my breathing halts, and my heart
drops a beat—irregular in rhythm
like the constant bursts of fireflies in the middle of the night.

I can’t sleep. Can’t think or breathe right. I
can’t do anything right
except write
this poem
to alleviate this aching in my chest, wondering if I’d ever have the guts
to light
that fire smoldering under my eyes.

If fate were on my side, I’d wait. If fate
were on my side, I’d hope. I’d clench my teeth, grind them
to oblivion
as I sit, frustrated by the weak me—the one who’d never move unless given
that chance of a lifetime. A sign that says,
“Me too. I’m interested too.” 
That never happens. It never will, so I wait,
longing for someone, something, that’ll never come, hoping
that I won’t have to move.

I’d imagine if I were any different, we’d already be
together. We’d watch the stars in the sky, swim into the deep sea, climb mountains
I could never climb alone. I’d imagine if I really had what it takes
I wouldn’t be writing, trying to free my mind
from this incessant obsession of the heart.

Let me stop already. Let me go. It’ll never
happen. Not when I’m me, and you’re
you.
But that’s why it all happened. Because you were you and nobody else, I think
I fell in love. And I think
this will be another one of those times
when I gave up
and moved on
because I just can’t look you in the eyes
and confess.