What You're Not

You're not there.
You're not present when I am.
You're not talking when I am asking.
You're not listening when I am talking.
You're nowhere.

You're not consistent with what you are declaiming.
You're not even making sense.
It's like you are absorbed with your own sense of foreboding,
with a vicious cycle of a question on chances and beginnings.
You're not making a connection.

It's as if you're not real.
That makes it a lot worse, because you are as real as my blog entry can get.
You're still not here.

I don't know how, why or even what.
Right now, I know that:

You've found a way to get into my mind and leave me floating.
You've managed to put a smile on my face.
You've made my cheeks and lips red, and
You've asked my cellphone to stick with me throughout the night.
Damn you for existing.

Even now that you're not here.

You are definitely now what I was looking for.
And yet, I found you.

When will you realize that I am here?