My Mitchell

You’re Mitchell, my Mitchell.

Hovering unseen over my shoulder,

silent specter, guardian angel,

watching me, filling me,

evermore;

everything I do,

every single moment,

every single day

you follow me.

I want to impress you;

my life is a regular show.

I’m loved and pretty because you watch me.

I’m so perfect as you watch me.

You’re my Mitchell.

I stand hidden outside your work,

day after day,

dizzy, just praying that I might glimpse

your coffee-colored hair

bob by a side window.

There’s no way I can let you go now,

my Mitchell.

Even when you blocked me,

blocked every profile I could invent;

even as you chased me from my hiding spot

among the rhododendrons at your house.

Now I can’t even come back.

Yet you watch over my every move,

my Michell,

eyes open or closed.

I can’t touch you; can’t hold you

...but I’m never too far.

As you watch me, I watch you,

wherever I can; whenever I can.

I need you no matter how I can have you.

All of that, but Mitchell,

you’re my constant gut punch.

You sit heavy in my heart,

even if, even because

I can’t touch you; can’t hold you.

...but I love you.