The Other

I wait for you, broken and sick,
I think you'll fix all my problems.
I lie in my bed each night and cry,
wondering: why you aren't there.
I think, I can sometimes feel you.
Your warmth, your smell.
You hold me really tight,
so I know that you are really there.
I feel complete.
But there is no other.

I dreamt of you last night again.
It was a scary dream.
I was running again.
I knew it wasn't you.
There is no other.
I made you up.
Am I that messed up, to have created you?
Why do I torture myself with these thoughts?

I miss you.
Everything is my fault.
I am sorry. I am sorry about a lot things,
most of all about you.
I need you near me again.
But I can't change who I am.
I was too messed up, to believe in you.
Why did you say you loved me?
Why?
If I just had more time.
Maybe I wouldn't have gotten scared.
But you let go of me. You didn't hold me anymore.
If you had loved me, why did you give up?
See, there is no other.
Love, is just a thing you said.
But I did love you.