I write to Matthew often, and always anonymously. It is as if I am ashamed of the affection I feel for him. I have pushed him away, and will do everything to maintain the physical distance. What I have said, I have meant. There will never be a union:
You arrive and leave in near-silence. And when you do speak, it is not to me. Every other word I hear seems to be spoken in an archaic tongue.
When did I become a satellite, orbiting you unnoticed?
I have learned a thousand lessons by observing you interact with the world, and I do nothing with them. Instead, I envy the lapis lazuli that are your eyes. I had emeralds in my hand, only in my hand. And while I never wanted to look at the world through ice, I cannot help but have a distaste for everything you own, when I can never touch it.