I like this part of it: 

I had always dreamed of someone like you in my world
yet never had I thought you would wake up in it
nor I next to you, immersed in yours.

But now I'm not sure if I should try to rewrite the rest of it, or perhaps separate it from the rest? I like the rest of it; it's just that they don't all jive together. But the first stanza I think is the best by itself. Perhaps I should make a little booklet of poetry. Which leads me to another question: should I include some old poetry? He's seen some of it, but it doesn't have to be from the things he's seen. I'll attempt another something now:

writing thinking coming alive

How odd it is
of all my poetry
that has existed
you had somehow
never appeared within.
Thinking back,
you should have been
most inspiring of all.
And yet,
I never once had thought to.
Was I only compelled
by negativity
to write as I did,
somehow not concerning you?
Or was it fear,
you being near
to my heart,
of judgement to my art?
No matter.
Or perhaps,
it is the fact
I had not felt the need to seek you
in writing,
you are there,
a hopeful constant,
in my ever-morphing life.
That I had no need to wonder,but I do.
And so,
for you,
is my pondering
over you.

Another one:

What silly sounds of affections we make,
whether miao, mew, or meer.
Why are we sometimes caught up in these sounds,
 present to each others ears?

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