discontented

These are the contents of my head.
I do not think of you, because to
think of you would be futile and
wrong and even dangerous
even more dangerous
than trying not to think of you
feel you
feel hope and passion and joy and
discovery and loss
of innocence
and wish and want and more
and now and
then
it turns to wait
long and pain and loneliness
fills hours and hours and
even when we're together
we're apart and
alone and straining
across distances of time and
fear and silence
of regret.
Faith takes work
and sacrifice.
These are the contents of my heart.