Wistful Thinking

I wish that just once
I could see him again,
as the memories
of him fade.
I wish I could feel
his presence,
feel the warmth
that radiates from his body
when it touches
mine.
Wishing and hoping,
every night at 11:11;
wishing and hoping
for something I know
will never happen.
I pray for his comfort,
for the tingling sensation
I get from just being around him.
I yearn for him to touch me,
even just to brush my hair away.
Yet in the back of mind,
I know it’s just wistful thinking.
But despite the cloud of rejection
that hovers over me,
I press on,
knowing,
all the while,
he’ll never
love me
like I
love him.