I want this to go places. I want the whole shebang. No missteps, no casualties, no red tape. Nothing but you and me and free sailing. I know where you are but I know what it’s like to sit across from someone and know they’re looking for anyone. I don’t feel that with you, that you’re looking for anyone, a body, a warmth, a comfort. I will never make you comfortable- that’s not how this real thing works. This real thing works because it keeps us in motion, not quite at a loss but never in rigid lockstep. You will never know me exactly but that’s why I’ll love you- because you’ll still be interested after all those years, and interesting. You’ll still make my face flush and glow. People see it already, the glow, and it feels like I’ve known you a million years. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that when we’re still, sitting, the picket fence goes up around us, and the garden and the children run laughing by and then we’re at a dinner table surrounded by friends in a toast to our love, the one we’ve shared for years but never really returned to the universe- we’ve held it between ourselves as if it couldn’t be merely on loan for our lifetime. As if it couldn’t be greater than the two of us.
This is too much to tell you right now. I may lay it all out on the line sometimes but at heart I’m a realist, I realize. Your free will is as strong as mine, though I love when you use it to pin my arms up beside me. It’s a gesture no-one’s ever made, it’s a gesture that makes me feel as if I would never need to ask another question for the rest of my life. This is so stupid, this writing. Putting things on paper for you to see and judge, when you know them even if I haven’t said them out loud. *Sigh* And I’m drunk off of wine and you’ll see it sometime, the way I am when I’m drunk- restless and sometimes morbid in my assessments. I could convince myself right now that you’ll never love me but I don’t want to do this, I want to see what happens when we collide, maybe fireside into a burst of raw threads peeling each other apart and meeting again. Can you feel it twining together? I send that out sometimes, a curly tendril to brush your cheek as you sleep, to make you think of me. It’s not sorcery, it’s so much more plain, a no-frills way to tell you that I think about you at the very base of my matter. I’d think you could dig that, if there were anything to dig- but I’ve left it out in the open for you, a rare and randy assortment.
See what you’ve inspired? A grandiose self-punishment. You’ve inspired a scoff. No, that’s not fair- you’ve inspired so much more, but sobriety is a funny thing in that I spend most of my days in concert with it and most of my nights, even, in concert with it and so to read this sober will be a dull headache because it will feel true. And because I just never know when to stop.
Back, then, to what I want. I want to be your arm candy and your warm body and your crossword puzzle dictionary. I want to be your side-by-side and sometimes upside-down. I want to have you cornered. I want to come out unscathed, but I want someday to fight for you. Make things plain for me- give me something to cry about. It’s the only way I ever really live, and when the salt dries on paper it spells out the very least of my tragedies. I’m so compliant but that has never disturbed me, it’s only when I wish for something.
