Thoughts of you take up a lot of my day.
The wonder of if you are at practice, or asleep, or out with friends.
I don’t think I love you.
But I know that you have become part of my strength.
Talking till 3am while you watch SpongeBob reruns, with you dumb purple blanket.
Seriously that blanket is prettier than mine,
And for some reason that annoys me.
You’re not very talkative unless it’s about something you love,
But I understand that feeling, as I coax more and more words out of you as time continues.
I’m slowly beginning to understand what you hate, what you love, what you don’t care about.
I know you love your dog, and shelter her from the scary noises during a thunderstorm.
I know you love your SpongeBob, because you watch it Every. Single. Night.
I know you love your music, going out just to feel the bass reverberate through your body.
I know that you glare at everyone and look scary, but if someone glares right back at you, challenging you, then the most brilliant smile breaks out on your face.
I know you have a shitty internet connection, and it frustrates the shit out of you.
I know you refuse to play Daddy Long Legs, no matter how much I pester you about it.
I know you don’t care for reading.
But you still cared that I had no books left to read that night.
I know you don’t have a favourite word, and thought I was crazy.
But you still played along with my antics about words.
I know you don’t drink, to make sure your body is in top condition.
But you still ask if my nights out are good.
I know these things.
But they all seem a bit superfluous.
I want to see the real you.
Your story.
Your mistakes.
Your memories.
I want to see the real boy in the snapchats you send me.
The one who is dead tired, but stays barely awake just to answer my stupid questions.
I get glimpses but I want the whole picture.
Is that selfish?
I don’t really care if it is.
I know you have a past,
And so do I.
So maybe one day at 3am, we can share our secrets.
And the boy with the purple blanket won’t seem so far away anymore.
