The satisfying moment when you step into a cool, air conditioned house after hours out in the hot, humid sun reminds me of what it looks like to meet your eyes from across the room. You'll turn back from your electronic entertainment and look at me, smiling just slightly. I haven't seen eyes are beautiful as yours and I swear I could look into them for hours without getting bored. I hold my breath and simply smile back, keeping all the things I want to say locked up behind my lips.
Some days I feel the ground underneath me start to shake, and I try to grab onto your arm to steady myself. You look at me like I'm making myself trip. But are you, really? Or is it the tint of my rose-colored anxiety which makes me see shades of things that aren't there? I am so tightly wound by my fears that I stumble to walk normally even on the brightest of days. I tied my shoelaces too tight and now my fingers fumble to loosen the burdens I placed upon myself. There are so many knots that I don't know where to begin. I want so badly to reach out and ask you for help. But I am beyond terrified that you will sigh with frustration at the mental mess I created and simply walk away, again.
Your arms are more relaxing and comfortable than any bed I could possibly lie in, 'cept for yours of course. I don't ever desire to be anywhere else. But sometimes your arms seem cold and loose around me, and I try to hold on tighter to squeeze out some type of warmth. But is it so? Or is the constant air conditioning on full blast again, chilling me to the bone and making me mistake the warmth of you for something else?
When I think of you and what I feel, my heart swells in my chest. My feelings for you could move mountains and recite sonnets but all I wish is to hear one haiku about what you feel for me. For even though I know your feelings, they are constantly thrown to the wolves and torn to shreds through my daily doubts and second-guesses. I feel as if I am falling apart again, and I do not know how to keep those demons at bay. I don't know how to ask for your help because the terrifying fear of losing you again freezes me in my steps. I am so scared, and that fear is controlling my every move.
Sometimes I see you as a deer, quick to startle, easy to spook and run away. But I'm staring at the foggy outline in the forest, gripping onto my bucket of sweet nothings and love bits, trying to sprinkle them close enough to you to spark your attention. I don't have the guts to travel close enough to see that you're really just a friendly horse, who doesn't have as big of an appetite as I do.
But I am starving. I am starving to feel the waves of romantic expression wash over me. I am starving for a love that will swallow me whole. I am starving for the meal I once had, until the shed burned down.
I am falling apart. But is that really going on? Or am I destroying myself again?
