I feel almost like your stalker;
I’m obsessed because I love you.
But there is one key difference,
I know that I can never have you,

Because I’m not worthy of you.
I sit imagining your voice,
Your foibles—the final details—
That God had crafted there by choice,

And I cry, knowing you’d have dragged
Me by my collar to heaven.
But I have naught to offer you,
And there’s naught that I have given

To merit you. What’s faithfulness
And cherishing eternally,
When compared to my horribly
Corroded mess spiritually?

And so, I’m hopelessly in love
With you for aye, though you’ll ne’er know,
Because I can never express
My true emotions for fear. So,

If the past years have been a clue,
I’ll languish, battling depression
That would have me do foolish things
With its powerful suggestion.

Though I’ll have not your heart, may it
Have all that I’d want you to have.
May it be spoiled in love alway,
And that would be the sweetest salve

For me, since that alone’d atone
For the suffering that I feel
Without you, but always with you,
And beside you each time you kneel.