|Come find me here.
Waiting and wondering, mulling over all those things which have been said. To act upon the impulse to tell you how it really feels. How it feels to have this thing beating twice as hard in my chest at the mere thought of your face. To marvel over it, to wonder over it, to ask myself how it ever got this way? How long had my mind decided it had its own thoughts where you were concerned? Still, I can’t figure out the answer nor the means to express it to you, the world, or anyone else willing to listen. So it goes.
And when the rain comes, I can smell it on the air. Somewhere in there is something of you tangled up in the moisture. Locked within the individual droplets. To lick at my nostrils, laughing as I pull away. Shut the window to the wind, to the idea of you. Yet it crawls in through the small cracks in the plaster; squeaks in through the wall boards till I can’t even hide in the one place I thought to be my own. When I wake to my lover, he smells of your rain.
Would you have truly known me, would you want it to be like this? Would it cause you the same unease or would it simply be more of the same? The same as everything that reaches out to touch you in this world. Can you feel it? When I catch you sobbing in my dreams over mistakes you’ve made and cannot call back. That same spot I saw you hugging her as a friend, yet I was jealous, even though I was your lover. Then the disappearance of you both, because she needed your help, needed you by her side and here I was left to yell at those who’d made the mistakes over your account. I can’t help but wonder if it’s your finger that directs these ideas in my head. I can’t help but think you actually know me well.
Did it reach you? The mistake of a friend to open something up to the world. Something that he was very proud of, and me so very shy of even though I knew it to be good. And did it find it’s way to the right spot, to open and show the world that someone like me was there, just waiting? Take what he offered, bring it close to your lips as the kiss is aching. Would you understand the way I do these things? Would you understand me should I ask you? Would you at least call me, let me know the same can be said of you? That the same thing rolls around in your head. Or do you see the cat creeping just below and get a whiff of the irrationality which plagues my every intention?
If they told you I was eccentric you’d be good to believe them. To believe that all the thoughts and misguiding voices in my head cause me to be just slightly south of normal. Cause me to seem somewhat charming when really I am just plain sick and demented in the subtlest of ways. Demented for you, around you, to be inside you.
I am for you.