“I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.”
- Dr. Seuss
something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue
I see you, and I feel happy.
You smile at me, and I’m at home.
We live together now. It has been great so far, except for those moments when you make me feel it’d be best to eradicate myself from existence.
You know, I always, ALWAYS, am ecstatic to take you out and show you off. I state to the world: ”Here ye, here ye, see my love!” and I feel content that you are mine and no one else’s- even when you are inebriated and make a spectacle out of yourself. Even then, without qualms or dismays, I still love you and continue to build up the shrine I’ve put you on.
However, it’s times like these when I wonder if you actually value that or if you even actually feel the same as I do.
You see, I can’t make a spectacle out of myself for even one night without having to face repercussions the next morning.
It’s outrageous! It’s not equal, it’s not fair.
I’m not allowed to intoxicate and release but you are? I’m not allowed to get away with it the following morning and wake up to your tenderness, but you are?
What makes you and I so different? As far as I’m concerned, we are both in our 20’s, we both like to be young and free and careless and that is actually what brought us together.
Why the change now?
I hope you figure it out and map it out for me when you figure it out- I’ve had it with trying to understand your erratic train of thought.
No one has ever made me feel the way you do and I don’t mean that in the sappy, corny form of the expression…I mean you sincerely are the one person I have ever been this confused about. I really should hate you, or at least not want to see you ever again, but I find myself hopelessly attracted to you…and why? You really aren’t anything special. You’re incredibly awkward around girls, you are tall and lanky, and you don’t know what you want…yet when I saw you the other day I got all seventh grade tounge-tied, butterflies beating in my stomach so hard I could barely breathe. And then you hugged me and you held me so tightly and so long that when I pulled away it was only because I was afraid if I stayed in that moment any longer I’d never want to leave. Any longer and all my intentions, my distrust, nullified by the incredible strength of your need for me in that moment. I know now that I will probably never get that moment, that feeling from you ever again. You don’t need me anymore and I am trying so hard to not need you either…
Hopelessly (in) love,
I wish I could hold onto that look in your eyes when you said goodbye today.
I wish I could never forget how long you took to turn around.
I wish I could burn a picture of your smile into my mind and never forget it.
I wish we weren’t so hopeless.
I’m glad we are as close as we are.
I love the way the corners of your mouth rise when you look at me. Not a conscious smile, but, an inevitable one.
I love that we can talk about everything and anything. You are a good listener and an interesting speaker. Your point of view is so refreshingly different from mine.
Time spent with you is a breath of fresh air.
But, dear, dear you. Although you seem presently unable to admit it, our journey is about to change.
I’m sure you felt it was kind, saying you love me like a brother. But, my feelings toward you do not reflect those of a sibling.
We are in interesting territory now.
Our relationship has crossed over the border of ’friendship’, and yet, you seem unwilling to enter the territory of ’couple’. I simply can not remain in No Man’s Land at length.
I say we continue onward and march bravely into new territory.
Yet you hesitate, allowing uncertainty and fear to hold you back. You have been, as yet, unable to acknowledge that we are at a crossroads at all. You are happy with the way things are and are afraid of change. I am also happy, although your uncertainty saddens.
What I want is you. I want you all to myself. It’s probably selfish, but, it’s already unfair.
I am already yours.
There are two things I do not want. I do not want to lose you, but, worse still, I do not want to coerce you. I don’t want to carry on without you and I do not want to carry you.
If you want me, choose me.
I will take the next step alone. I will be waiting one step into the new territory. I will beckon. I will wait patiently and woo you into my arms once more.
I will not force you to join me. I will not beg. I will simply do my utmost to win you over.
I will not force this issue ever again. If you retreat away from me, I’ll acquiesce and do the same. If you advance, I’ll advance with you.
The choice is yours.
Thank you. That was the first time I ever really let myself cry in front of someone that wasn’t family. You made me feel safe, and you didn’t judge me, or laugh at me, or mention it the next day. You just hugged me, asked me if I was all right, and brought me a birthday cappuccino the next day. I can’t begin to tell you how much that means to me. I love you, I honestly do. Not in a sexual way, not in a ”I wanna date you” way. I just love you. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for you. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Thank you for that.
I look upon my memories of the day and wonder, could I have done something to change it? Could I have made a difference?
Some days I think back to how I used to love you and everything you were. Then I realize how deeply you can miss someone in such a short period of time.
And that really scares me.
He left a note on the lamppost, wrapped with a bit of graphite, squeezed carefully into a minuscule capsule. He had written his name. He had taken nothing but adrenaline, glanced around like a criminal, that smooth satisfaction returning. Plugs the magnet back under the ”push button to activate walk signal”, saunters off.
by Arthur O’Shaughnessy
WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
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