I apologize for the involuntary abscense these few days. B-day weekend was nothing but fun! Friends, booze, b-day cake - it was all just nice!
Getting up this morning, after a 3 day weekend, was quite difficult. At some point in the night, I took my long sleeve shirt off and slept in just pants. I don't remember taking it off, I wonder if she did it?
There are no ugly questions except those dressed in condescention.
Rose-colored lips. Say it say it say it. I'm feeling panicked and packed with hidden words, double meanings, the weight of the unspoken. And what it simply comes down to does not suffice, does not put away the urgency and sickness and fear. I could love you! I don't need permission. I don't need a higher purpose. I don't need a green light anymore; reassurance that by jumping headfirst into this I won't find just how shallow the bottom is. I just need your hand. How can I begin to tell you of the softer side of the words we cannot speak; what I mean by warmth, what I mean by happiness, what I mean by this jigsaw of past events from a period which could potentially repeat itself. I could recite every direct indication: I love you, I'm in love with you, I want you, I need you, I miss you, I'm yours. Don't leave. Don't push me away. Promise me we're in this together. Promise me when I wake up tomorrow it won't fuck over. Promise me we won't go to bed at night angry at each other. Promise to tell me when you're feeling sad, when you're angry, when you want space – open up to me, let me help you, let me be there for you, let me show you this spoken love I toss around so that somewhere down the track you won't have to ask me whether or not when we were together did I ever love you. You should already know.
One week. Sad day sunday will be.
I need you so much closer. There have been so many ideas chasing each other around in my head lately that I'm afraid to vocalize or put in writing. I vow to you because you got to me. Masterfully.
What do I ask of you? To be with me. Nothing more, nothing less (yet). Do I want less of it? no. Do I want more of it? maybe but that is still in the works. I have been overthinking the idea of "interaction". The reasons for why it doesn't seem to work well with me. Conclusion: I have nothing to say of the matter at the moment. I'm tired of lists. Pros and cons. Perhaps I should just take a risk. What is there to loose? e v e r y t h i n g!
"Someone that you don't even know exists loves you."
By summer I'll have shrugged you off, just itchy wool against my shoulders. I'll like the long hair I see reflected in store shop windows and tea spoons and when I sit my tresses will gather over my shoulders. For now I'm still bitter, the rain hasn't helped but when I stand with my toes facing east, all looks green, so lush I think it must be my shaky imagination.
