Some people juggle geese!
Why haven’t I seen you? Why are we apart? Where great sin did I commit in a previous life to deserve this? And yet, the torment has not reached it’s fullness. Worse may lay ahead. I am distraught at the idea that it could be worse. There is a feeling that comforts me. This strange idea that the sound in my ears, that rushing when all is quiet, is not my heartbeat. It is yours. We say it, we even kind of mean it. But there is the strange idea that our hearts really beat as one. It is irrational, unrealistic, idiotic, and most other adjectives that apply to those that are in love. It is the most basic definition of stupidity for me to believe this. So I revel in it.
I don’t know what to do. You’ll tell me not to do anything then. YOu’ll tell me to just be. And we noth know I can’t do that. I don’t know anymore. I feel like I’ve gincen Everything I have to give. I feel wrung out, used, and dessicated. I’ve nothing left to give. I only have this vacuum to offer. This longing, this need, this lacking, this is my gift to you. You’ll take it, too. Just like you always have. You’ll take it, and tell me I’m whole. You’ll take that lacking and tell me I’m enough. I complete you, maybe. That you’ve got gaps and I fit right in them. So maybe I’m broken, and maybe you aren’t whole either. And we can pool our collective inadequacies and make a whole something. A completeness that makes us both happy. Some strange alchemy that sates our mutual lacking. I love you.
So much truth and win.
Every time, it’s like I forgot. It’s like a punch to the jaw. You never really remember what it feels like… until it happens again. So, I see you, and then your beauty hits me like a ton of bricks. That smile stops me in my tracks. Your laugh is the music that moves my soul. Our chemistry is alchemical, arcane, that is to say, mystical. I don’t know how you do it. You pull me in every time. Every moment without you is a hangover, a painful and muted adulteration of life. Every moment with you is a sensory overload of possibility and need. Seeing you is Christmas Morning. A flashbulb moment, seared into the fabric of my mind, a million possibilities, the indecision of desire.
You aren’t here right now. That means that this isn’t really what life is supposed to be. So hurry up, I need real life to start.
I hate it. I absolutely hate it. You have to know that by now. I hold it in abject, unrepentant disdain. What I am, what I’m not. The things I could have been. The things I’m not. I wish I was better, I wish I was more, and I wish like hell I wasn’t what I am. Not Prince Charming, not a Knight In Shining Armor. A man, and not even a good one. You deserve better, and you always have. I’ve never been good enough, and maybe you’ve known.
I have always been fascinated by the similarity between ‘amorous’ and ‘armor’.