I have no regrets for letting you inside my ribcage.
It took me two days to start dreaming about you. Two days. That's shorter than any time that I've previously experienced. Two days. But your eyes are blue and I love them.
You showcased me a book of your deceased family member – no, there were two books. One of her birth and one of her death. Before I could tell you I was sorry, you had already left to meet up with your people.
Usually it takes around months to get so close, so intimate with anyone. But it's not like I want to compare you to anyone else – the value of any relationship between people shouldn't be made through comparison.
Though everything is more beautiful now that you're around. Even music makes sense. I feel light-headed, dreamy and I smile like a person that's dead inside. That's far from the truth.
And the way you look at me is the way you look at everyone; with the utmost interest. It's the same look you'd give the person you love the most but for you it's up for grabs by anyone who's interested enough. It's not like you'd actually love anyone, because I fear I know your love has already been taken. But every single time you look at me and your eyes are so blue and I love them so much, and you look like you actually are listening to what I say and that's more than I can say for many else.
There, I made a comparison again. I know you would not enjoy that. Heck, I don't enjoy that either. The way you make things feel doesn't make anyone else of any less value. That's beside the point.
And when you talk, you articulate. You're serious when you talk and you're serious when you listen. I am done with everything else in this world but the feeling of being listened to.
I have the visual of you moving like a cat. Right now I see it clearly and I love it. You smile, because you're the type to be modest when people compliment you. It's the kind of smile people wear with little grace – the type that makes people lower their jaw and raise their shoulders, but even then, with you it's a whole other thing around you. You are genuine. You are as genuine as they get. That, or I'm completely brainwashed and melted by your charm.
Oh, charm. When did I ever become a fool for charm? When did I start to blush at the thought of your name and the way I imagine your hair smells? I'm thinking pancakes and I wonder if I'll ever be close enough to actually know – and if I actually would make it, would I be one of the creepy people who admire you and sniff you when they get close enough?
No, no, that's what I'm trying to avoid here. I'm comparing you to all my lower experiences on people and trying to compare myself to your lower experiences on people and then it's all hoping; hoping you would realize that me comparing people has nothing to do with trying to be mean or suppressing any other beings.
I'm trying to make you see you are what makes my whole scene of the world full and I thought I had it figured out a long time ago. I am craving to be seen by you, there's no part of me that disagrees with this – and I'm taking the risk of you thinking I'm a creep or other people thinking I've met someone – something – that is an experience everyone goes through. I want to make you see that we are meant to fit each other and you are meant to see me, us, the world through my lovelorn eyes and that love to be reserved for me. Your cat-like, blue-eyed, serious, attentive love.
And making you see it is why I'm here.
Best Regards,
#562
YOU ARE READING
And That's Why I'm Here
General FictionA story consisting of smaller parts - some so small they're just fragments and make no sense whatsoever - but should still be a tiny glimpse of joy, sadness, anger, amusement or wonder; pick a side, pick an emotion, read on. Will this fold in nicely...