Perhaps it's true that I feel too much. When
I look at him often I feel as if my words are
caught somewhere between my brain and
my throat, stuck inside and unable to come
out. Love has a funny way of finding itself

inside the emptiest of rooms and filling them
up to the brim; love is in the cracks. Standing
outside, waiting for the sunset - looking for the
blues and purples, the discharge of orange, I
realize that, yes, it is indeed true that I feel too much.