progress

The way I feel is like a loading bar that is almost at the end, but crashes in the last percent. 

When I talk to you like that and we blur our lines together in a flurry of quick-wit-flirts that only we understand, I realise I have to start over.

I realise that I need to find my power and turn myself off and on again. 

But no matter how many reboots I try, I can’t get your laugh out of my head. I can’t get your eyes out my head. Why won’t they get out of my head? 

Perhaps that loading bar doesn’t crash, perhaps it gets to the final percent but it doesn’t complete. 

That makes more sense, patience, is a virtue and I have none. You asked for time I gave you one. Only one. 

The wheel keeps turning to say ‘there is life here’ but as the days draw on I realise it’s a malfunction. But I choose to wait. I choose to wait for something that will never come.

And when I tell you “I could never” what I mean is “I wish”. And oh my god I could never. 

But as I am about to turn off, I glance again and see 99.9% complete and I have to hope, that one day I will be done. 
And this is my progress with getting over you.