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The pouring

I just realized how many times I start sentences with 'I'.
I want.
I think
I feel
I know. 
I
I write a lot about how I feel when I feel it and how I want to love you and and...
Is it selfish to scream my bubbly and burning, on the edge of my seat screaming love for you? 
Is it?
Or should I ask you if it makes you uncomfortable that I know that your good mornings and good nights leave permanent smiles on my face?
Is it wrong that I feel so strangely connected to you? 
still. 
All I can talk about is me. 
Until you bare your soul to me under the moon or just in a bar, maybe not a bar but somewhere with me. I can't write about anything else. 
The reality is sad. I'll cry another river. 
I'll get upset over another date that was not with me and my whole world will come crashing down, again. 
Sigh 

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