I look at you sometimes, while you are talking, or smiling, and I wonder what you are thinking. I’ve never wanted in to someone’s head like that, to get answers to questions I used to be too afraid to ask. I am still afraid, afraid to cross invisible boundaries, to break unspoken truces. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish you could see me for every single thing that I am. You don’t understand me, I see it sometimes, in the way we part. I am unlike anyone else you will ever know, and I may not be the best or funniest or sexiest or smartest or the most social or the most happy or the easiest to decipher, but I unravel into so many different layers you could find the entire universe underneath my skin and you should know that I strive with every finger and every fingernail to make meaning. And if you could see me truly how I can be you would be blinded by the light of my hunger. I wish I didn’t have to defend myself to you like this in my head. I trust you to see it, but you have to be looking first. You are gold. And maybe there are parts that I am blind to. We are both a little blind, I think. I would be all in, I would play all of my cards for you, I would risk it all. I would hurt again, I am hurting again, already. It is worth it, ONLY if your intentions are pure. Be careful with me, because if it hasn’t been real for you, I will have willingly broken my heart for you anyways. Why can’t you see me? Why won’t you look? I am here I am here I have always been here. But I can’t stay here through the winter. After this I have to leave. Another summer of this would be the last.
I’ve said it once, I’ve said it twice, I’ve said it a thousand fucking times: That I’m okay, that I’m fine, that it’s all just in my mind, But this has got the best of me and I can’t seem to sleep. It’s not ‘cause you are not with me, it’s ‘cause you never leave.
Things are here, and you’re over there, And in between: land, sea, everything. I hope you’re warm, and I hope you think of me, And the way things used to be. Yesterday a telegram said that you had died, But I knew and I know that it was a lie. I tried to laugh, but went back to my room and cried. I mean our room, I went back to our room and cried. Retreat, and come back home.
You woke up before me. When I finally lifted my lids, you were propped on one shoulder, asking me why I’ve been so silent lately. You said that you knew I was always silent this time of year, but that it was different this time. Deeper. Impenetrable.
I remember you seemed like a dream. Like your arm was not your arm. That bundle of nerves, veins and science knows what else all nicely wrapped up in your skin could not possibly be your arm. Your face was fuzzy. I remember the stubble, but not much behind it.