I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU
It begins like this …
a glance,
a pause,
a body remembering
something the mind doesn’t trust.
And still… we go.
I know better.
That’s the first thing you should know about me.
I’ve been here before.
Standing at the edge of someone,
feeling the ground go soft
beneath every sensible thing
I told myself I’d learned.
And yet,
here I am.
Three in the morning.
Wide awake.
Composing sentences
I’ll probably never send.
Thinking about your mouth.
Not even a thought, exactly.
More like a pull.
The way it moves
when you’re about to say something
you haven’t decided to say yet.
That half-second.
That’s the one that got me.
Because this is the part
no one stays rational through.
The wanting.
Not just to know you,
to have you close enough
that distance
starts to feel like a problem.
To touch
and be touched
like it actually lands somewhere.
Like bodies remember
what minds try to manage.
You leaned in.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And something in me
stopped negotiating.
Lust and love
don’t arrive politely.
They show up together.
Uninvited.
Indistinguishable at first.
And suddenly I want things
I have no business wanting yet.
To know how you take your coffee
when no one’s watching.
What your face looks like
before the world gets to it.
What still hurts
even though you carry it well.
What you sound like
when you stop being careful.
Your ordinary matters now.
Not because it’s extraordinary,
because it’s yours.
I felt it
when your eyes held mine
a beat too long
and neither of us looked away.
When the conversation
kept finding reasons
not to end.
When I made you laugh,
really laugh,
and something in me registered it
like a win
I didn’t know I was playing for.
And then the touch.
Nothing dramatic.
Just hands.
Just the quiet arrival
of your skin against mine
and the very deliberate decision
by both of us
not to move.
The world narrowed.
Sharpened.
Decided.
And the kiss,
not even the kiss.
The moment before it.
When we both knew
and stopped pretending we didn’t.
That exact point
where everything becomes inevitable.
The hunger.
The tenderness.
The quiet, dangerous hope
that shows up again
like it never learned a thing
from last time.
And yes,
I know.
I know how fast it builds.
How convincing it feels.
How easily the body mistakes
possibility
for truth.
And still,
none of that changes this.
How alive I feel.
How open.
How something in me
has already leaned forward
and isn’t waiting
for permission.
Experience doesn’t save you.
It just means
you recognise the feeling
as it arrives,
and step into it anyway.
Wide awake.
Full of want.
Careful in theory.
Already gone in practice.
And underneath all of it,
this.
The wanting.
The pull.
The quiet, undeniable yes
that arrives
before you’ve asked
a single sensible question.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
And I’m not even trying to.
© Zen Prem 2026
If this poem landed somewhere in you ,it’s the job.
We write about love not because we’ve figured it out, but because we keep showing up to it anyway. Knowing what we know. Carrying what we carry. Leaning forward anyway.
That’s not naivety. That’s the bravest thing most of us ever do.
If you want more of this , Samantha Spiro and I write about love, desire, and the beautiful mess of relatingshits and being human together. Our books THE LIE ABOUT LOVE and BEYOND BULLSHIT TO BLISS are available on Amazon ⭐️
And if this poem found you at three in the morning … you’re not alone.
That’s exactly who I wrote it for.
It’s never too late to love.
🦋🎼❤️🔥
Reading this poem reminded me of those 3 AM moments when your mind races with feelings you can't articulate but deeply feel. The author beautifully portrays the internal conflict between logic and emotion, something I've personally experienced many times. It's in those quiet, intimate seconds — a glance, a pause, the slight leaning in — that emotions surge unexpectedly and profoundly, making us realize how love and lust often intertwine, defying reason. What struck me most is the portrayal of the ordinary details becoming precious just because they're shared with someone meaningful. Like wondering how they take their coffee or what their face looks like before the world changes it; these small curiosities make connection more tangible. From my own experience, it's these subtle but authentic moments that solidify bonds far more than grand gestures. Also, the poem's acknowledgment that experience doesn't shield us from vulnerability really resonates. Despite past heartbreaks and lessons learned, the pull towards love remains strong and compelling. This vulnerability isn't weakness but an act of courage — showing up to love even when unsure. I've found that embracing this openness, even when it feels risky, often leads to the most rewarding human connections. For readers who find themselves awake and thinking deeply about someone, this piece offers company and validation. It reminds us all that this yearning, the quiet saying 'yes' to feelings before asking rational questions, is a shared human experience. It’s never too late to lean forward into love and all its complicated beauty.
