Improper

These are sentiments that I can never share with a certain someone
that nevertheless need expression.

I have to make myself get over you.
Feigning apathy,
I (and perhaps we) do more harm than good.
All too often I find myself thinking of you more than I should.

Too close for comfort,
too risky to chance.
Our acquaintance predicated on an unfortunate circumstance.

In a perfect world
we would have never met
and of all the things that I will try not to remember
you will be one of the hardest to forget.

I know you better than you will ever know me.
No hope for us to be lovers, friends or enemies;
merely coincidentally, tangentially aware of each other.
Denied of what could have been
because it would have been,
to say the least,
improper.

I have seen more of you
than professional etiquette allows me to show you in return
and I try so hard to not regret what I deny myself.
Your loyalty and affections belong to someone else
while I second-hand understand you
and deride myself when I voyeuristically admire you,
secretly, achingly desire you.

I painstakingly distance myself
though I heartbreakingly long to be beside you, inside you
but the gravity of our situation denies you and I
from being friends, lovers or enemies;
merely coincidentally, tangentially aware of each other.
Denied of what could have been
because it would have been,
to say the least,
improper.

I have to make myself get over you.