My body needs to move so I do. I find that it doesn't help. I feel like a weight has been lifted and I'm so very tired. I can't sleep but, I want to. I fear that the only way I do is to hug a pillow and hope it feels real. I am desperate for comfort and I find it no longer lives here. I need a change. A big one. I need to feel like there's a spark in my heart and it can fuel me just a few more days, just to get by. I always answer. I always reply. I am always waiting for anyone to reach out. Dependable in my delusion that there's always more than what I can see. My head throbs. I feed it coffee. I forget to drink it for days. My head pounds with my breath. I push my legs to walk. Somehow I end up walking with you. A whole lot of miles away. It seems like a good idea, I suppose. To just keep talking. Days pass by like hours and it's been a week. Two, really. I wonder how much you need my approval. You send me a picture of what you did. I'll see it tomorrow, I think. I want to see it. I'm happy you show me. I look at the neat way you placed things. The colors I chose. The ones you did. How it just goes together. I look at it again, later. and the next day, too. I sneak past you and look at it while you are around the side. I put my things down, in the spots I made for myself. Empty space that you left. I occupy it temporarily. I think, how your bed looks like mine now but, different colors. I find it odd. And I love it. And it makes me wonder so many things. I want to ask but, I'm afraid of what I'll reveal. Or, what you won't. I see you and you hesitate. It makes me think I think too much. But, so do you. You are ravenous and so am I. I don't know why this always surprises you. Just like I feel your surprise when you realize I'm ready. You seem so cool but, I know you are trying to be accommodating. Maybe even impress me. I sometimes realize how quiet we are together. You observe me. I observe everything. I wonder what the numbers mean for the fermenters. I wonder how far apart they were started. I have questions and a man approaches to check on them. I don't work up the courage to ask. I see a face you make. It's a face you only made after a very long time of seeing me, alone. I know that face. It's beautiful and childish. Not many get to see that face, I'm sure. I am surprised when you make that face but, I play it cool. It's when you are yourself. It comes out more and more but, this time, this time I saw it in public.
I am not sure why you always feel like you need to withdrawl after you open up. I suppose it's exhausting to be you. It's exhausting being me as well. I understand being alone. I need it, too. I wonder sometimes if it's because of my personal upbringing and trauma that causes me to know you need space and still reach out. Maybe, it's a reminder. Just so you know, when you come back out, I'll be here. Maybe, I withdrawl from you, too. Or, I can see how it would seem that way. It doesn't really matter anyways. I don't know if I'll ever know any of the countless questions I have. I never know what the right choice is until I make it. It's how I find out I'm making the wrong choices, too. I can't trust myself to ever truly know. So I follow my legs. I pick them up and I go. I squeeze you under an umbrella and wonder, what is it you feel here? You look at me like I made a mistake. I wonder if it was or not.
I want you and I can't say it enough how endearing it is to be tucked in. You lay a blanket on me and rest your arm on me like I'm a pet. You soothe me in a way I cannot explain. So, I sleep. I fall asleep on you three times in one day. Once for every time. You rest your arm on my back and it ends my night. I wake up only when I find a pillow in your place. Our goodbye is weird. It feels empty. I wonder why you are peering out your curtain when I leave. The questions range from sweet to mean. I never know why I overthink so damn much. I realize too late that I reply. I always reply. I reach out. I answer. I get a mix of things. Am I just a pair of tits because I'm quiet and private? Do I always look like I'm taking an internal shit on your cereal? People's perception of introverted people is skewed and also, what is my face ever doing? I wonder if I make a face like you did. Do I open up to you sometimes and you see it in my face? I agree to meet up with old friends. Old flames. I accidentally lead on several people by just enjoying the fact that dudes are just so obtuse. They don't care to ask how I'm feeling. If they ask, then it's just so they can make a connection. How many steps closer to tits am I at this rate? How many times do I need to ask how she's feeling before I can feel her? I like to be chased. I feel like it was something I had long forgotten to watch out for. I enjoy the courting. I want all the things that come with it and after. But, when it comes down to it, I lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell I am doing daily. Should I bother? Should I just quietly slip away? I can't stand the thought of hurting you because that means I'll be hurting me harder. Even the thought of pushing you away hurts. I can't stand the thought so I won't do it. I don't know what I want all the time but, somehow this fucking works. Two complicated, overthinking assholes who like to be alone but also hate it and then need too much love. All of it. None of it. Make sense of it. Fucking hell, it's exhausting but, not in a way I want it to end. It's a weird niche of a loop my brain likes to replay. I heard the song you played when you walked away. I put on headphones before I realized it was possibly a message for me. I realized too late but, I'm a good multi-tasker. My book wasn't as loud as the song. I heard it both. Plus, I do research. I know who sings it. I watched it again. I looked up the lyrics. Some songs really just make sense to us, I've found. Maybe it was meaningless. Maybe it all is to you. It isn't to me though. I feel like it all has meaning. I can't always pin point what it means for me though. This is a complicated game that I can't stop watching.
I close my eyes for a second and I open them briefly, you were just so gently squeezing the bottom of my heel and rubbing my feet. I wake up to you laughing, probably knowing I was out, or seeing if I was paying attention. I wasn't. I was full of comfort, coziness, gentle touching, a soothing deep voice, delicious food, alcohol, smoke, and warmth. And chocolate cake. You insist on me getting up from sleeping for the second time that day. To get tucked into bed with you. I slip in the sheets and feel your bare body and I wonder, do you know how fucking perfect you are? It's blowing my mind how hurt I truly am that I can't fall for you like I usually fall. How I have fallen in the past. Hard and fast. I can't. I put up a defense. No one can get in. But, moments like that, I remember what it is like. When I feel your skin under my fingertips. I rub your back gently and I hear your breath deepen and sleep takes you. You begin to snore, softly. Barely noticeable if you weren't over my ear. I am out. It has been days since I slept like this. I used to lay awake when you spooned me, anxious about how it would end and never able to enjoy it until later. I couldn't savor it, I only savored the memories. I opened up and let sleep take me while you are holding me. It happened maybe once or twice in the last decade. I said I wasn't ready to see you everyday and now I can't sleep well without your touch. You tease me in the morning but, I am serious. You are cheeky and I want you. I'm not even awake but, I pull you back into bed. You only protest a little. I recall you ironing my shorts the week before and I can't help but smile. It's a quirk I like that you let me in on. There is so much more left to you that you haven't revealed. Maybe you forgot it was something to hide. Or maybe you forgot it was there. I can't say but, I'm sure I'll overthink it enough. I can only point out the things I feel, when I feel them. It's true that love will happen when it wants.
I am not sure why you always feel like you need to withdrawl after you open up. I suppose it's exhausting to be you. It's exhausting being me as well. I understand being alone. I need it, too. I wonder sometimes if it's because of my personal upbringing and trauma that causes me to know you need space and still reach out. Maybe, it's a reminder. Just so you know, when you come back out, I'll be here. Maybe, I withdrawl from you, too. Or, I can see how it would seem that way. It doesn't really matter anyways. I don't know if I'll ever know any of the countless questions I have. I never know what the right choice is until I make it. It's how I find out I'm making the wrong choices, too. I can't trust myself to ever truly know. So I follow my legs. I pick them up and I go. I squeeze you under an umbrella and wonder, what is it you feel here? You look at me like I made a mistake. I wonder if it was or not.
I want you and I can't say it enough how endearing it is to be tucked in. You lay a blanket on me and rest your arm on me like I'm a pet. You soothe me in a way I cannot explain. So, I sleep. I fall asleep on you three times in one day. Once for every time. You rest your arm on my back and it ends my night. I wake up only when I find a pillow in your place. Our goodbye is weird. It feels empty. I wonder why you are peering out your curtain when I leave. The questions range from sweet to mean. I never know why I overthink so damn much. I realize too late that I reply. I always reply. I reach out. I answer. I get a mix of things. Am I just a pair of tits because I'm quiet and private? Do I always look like I'm taking an internal shit on your cereal? People's perception of introverted people is skewed and also, what is my face ever doing? I wonder if I make a face like you did. Do I open up to you sometimes and you see it in my face? I agree to meet up with old friends. Old flames. I accidentally lead on several people by just enjoying the fact that dudes are just so obtuse. They don't care to ask how I'm feeling. If they ask, then it's just so they can make a connection. How many steps closer to tits am I at this rate? How many times do I need to ask how she's feeling before I can feel her? I like to be chased. I feel like it was something I had long forgotten to watch out for. I enjoy the courting. I want all the things that come with it and after. But, when it comes down to it, I lay awake staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell I am doing daily. Should I bother? Should I just quietly slip away? I can't stand the thought of hurting you because that means I'll be hurting me harder. Even the thought of pushing you away hurts. I can't stand the thought so I won't do it. I don't know what I want all the time but, somehow this fucking works. Two complicated, overthinking assholes who like to be alone but also hate it and then need too much love. All of it. None of it. Make sense of it. Fucking hell, it's exhausting but, not in a way I want it to end. It's a weird niche of a loop my brain likes to replay. I heard the song you played when you walked away. I put on headphones before I realized it was possibly a message for me. I realized too late but, I'm a good multi-tasker. My book wasn't as loud as the song. I heard it both. Plus, I do research. I know who sings it. I watched it again. I looked up the lyrics. Some songs really just make sense to us, I've found. Maybe it was meaningless. Maybe it all is to you. It isn't to me though. I feel like it all has meaning. I can't always pin point what it means for me though. This is a complicated game that I can't stop watching.
I close my eyes for a second and I open them briefly, you were just so gently squeezing the bottom of my heel and rubbing my feet. I wake up to you laughing, probably knowing I was out, or seeing if I was paying attention. I wasn't. I was full of comfort, coziness, gentle touching, a soothing deep voice, delicious food, alcohol, smoke, and warmth. And chocolate cake. You insist on me getting up from sleeping for the second time that day. To get tucked into bed with you. I slip in the sheets and feel your bare body and I wonder, do you know how fucking perfect you are? It's blowing my mind how hurt I truly am that I can't fall for you like I usually fall. How I have fallen in the past. Hard and fast. I can't. I put up a defense. No one can get in. But, moments like that, I remember what it is like. When I feel your skin under my fingertips. I rub your back gently and I hear your breath deepen and sleep takes you. You begin to snore, softly. Barely noticeable if you weren't over my ear. I am out. It has been days since I slept like this. I used to lay awake when you spooned me, anxious about how it would end and never able to enjoy it until later. I couldn't savor it, I only savored the memories. I opened up and let sleep take me while you are holding me. It happened maybe once or twice in the last decade. I said I wasn't ready to see you everyday and now I can't sleep well without your touch. You tease me in the morning but, I am serious. You are cheeky and I want you. I'm not even awake but, I pull you back into bed. You only protest a little. I recall you ironing my shorts the week before and I can't help but smile. It's a quirk I like that you let me in on. There is so much more left to you that you haven't revealed. Maybe you forgot it was something to hide. Or maybe you forgot it was there. I can't say but, I'm sure I'll overthink it enough. I can only point out the things I feel, when I feel them. It's true that love will happen when it wants.
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