muse

7/6/19

7/6/19

I'm wondering if it's possible to miss someone who you've only met once. Everyday I'm going over the moment we met. Everyday I'm forgetting details. Of his words, of his face. I have to keep myself busy in the hours between his messages and mine, in the moments I wait to open the message because I don't want to look too eager. It's gone further than I could have hoped. One question makes my heart soar for twenty four hours. Yet the longer it goes on, the longer the guessing and the uncertainty and the expectations. It drags you down a hole. It's never-ending, until the day you get bored, I imagine. It's all a first for me, but it's all-consuming, and I'm scared for it to end but scared for it to go on and on. So many possibilities. I'm remembering when he said to me, "Music is the only thing that matters," and how I felt like I was reading my favourite book. Reality has become so much better than fiction, than stories in books and film. I can't concentrate on anything but the present and the possible future. I'm suddenly feeling limitless, so at peace with the world around me, so amazed by the world's possibilities. I feel more and more part of the world, yet terrified to write these things because it all could disintegrate in a moment if he decides it. I feel superstitious, because I'm so hopeful for something yet too scared to expect what my friends and mother predict. All I want to do is talk about him. I'm awkward in real life but that doesn't seem to matter right now, because I'll see him. I don't know. I want to see him again but I'm just hoping I will. The city seems so beautiful because I know he's in it.