The cold surface of my iPhone contains  the warmth of your breath,
the flatness of its screen holds the contour of your lips,
and I can peek into the depths of your soul,
I see my reflection on it and imagine I am lost in your eyes.
What is this? I always thought unrequited love was foolish and creepy, for losers
Unrequited love did not even make a good plot for a novel I would choose to read,
yet, here I am, lost in your silence, begging for one word that you continually refuse to utter.
I first thought this was infatuation,
then a bandage for my wounds,
afterwards pure madness, desire,
now I do not know what to think anymore,
but still, the silence of my iPhone shouts the voice I long to hear,
I suppose all this officially makes me a loser,
but still haven't gathered the strength to erase your pictures, your contact information,
my dreams from my iPhone