I see him in my eyes,
For he never stood before me;
I hear him inside my head,
And he'd never spoken a word to me;
I hear him laugh,
For neither had I heard his whimsical voice;
I feel his warmth beside me, like a breeze,
And he'd never touched me;
I think of him,
Even as I doubt him thinking of me, now.
Who is he?
Would I see the way he looks,
In days, months, or years....?
Should he say?


© TheSun