The way the world turns

Can I help the fact that I think he's beautiful? Can I help that every thought ends up with him? Can I help that I think I'm crazy? This is so much more than anything, than just something. I can't explain it, nor do I want to. All I know is, it'll never happen. All my dreams, all my realities are just thoughts, just whisps of something I could never grasp. Each one threatening to evaporate with each passing day. It's like reaching for the stars, hoping that you can just grab one and put it in a jar to keep you safe at night, but having the knowledge in the back of your mind that they are billions of miles away, and you'll never catch one. Even if you did you couldn't touch it. Knowledge is the path to nonexistence. I want to know, but try to tell me and I'll cover my ears and hum a song. I could make a thousand analogies to what this is, but a million wasted words that would be.