wrote a piece about how much I wanted him
and in no innocent ways possible.
But with you,
this is not so.
Let me state this now:
This is an open letter to you
with my intentions stated clearly.
I want you to want me.
And I don’t mean just physically.
I mean, crave my company.
Because when I picture us together,
it’s leg stretched out in front,
backs up against a dresser,
bowls of popcorn on laps
and some horror movie I am not prepared for
playing off your laptop.
When I see us in the summer,
it’s me singing very off-key to some pop song blasting
on the radio and you rolling your eyes at me in the passenger seat,
until we get to our destination.
I know you’re easily impressed.
Cape May Zoo it is.
Because I don’t know if you get it:
with you, I’m happy.
Just being in your presence I’m calm
I am glued together if only for a few seconds.
Which brings me to our next topic:
I can’t save you, despite
my Savior complex. I hate when guys use it on me,
and I can’t bring back whatever she gave you. But know this:
that even though I barely know you,
I want you to obtain happiness,
whatever way you can fully grasp it,
tightly and tangible in your palms.
And if that means her,
and yes, it does mean her
I will let the shattered pieces sweep up
after I take a few gasps of positivity and
Because, fact of the matter is,
these are all possibilities.
That when you are scared of being eaten alive by whatever
demons you are fighting inside, when you need to escape,
you can always reach for me. And I will take you blindly.
Even when you’re being an ass, which I’m sure is bound to happen,
and I’ll refrain from being a bitch…
[Unless you’re into that sort of thing. ;)]
We don’t have to talk about relationships or even family
(however, I’m wondering what your mom’s name is).
We don’t have to talk about your hobbies, favorite books or bands,
but I do know your favorite candy (concerning chocolate; sugar is something else entirely) or anything at all if you don’t want to expose any of yourself to me.
But don’t expect me to spill out my heartbreak like an opera;
I was never one for “arias”.
(If you get that reference, let’s high five,
preferably with your lips
and my neck.
I’m too forward and somewhat conceited. Pushy,
and that’s partially because I can be needy. It’s a flaw in the myriad of things
that make up the list of why sometimes even I can’t stand being around me.
I find innuendos in practically everything and switch topics at the speed of light; ask strange questions pulled directly from the realm of thin air.
This is becoming prose poetry
You have yet to write anything that doesn’t
In that aspect,
I wish you would give yourself more credit.
And though we have little to no history, though you barely know me,
there’s a few things I have to clear up that I would more than like:
I want your roommates to like me (because I search for validation like a blind man craves sight and because they are decent people and I like them as an admirer from a very far distance who has a high tendency to be socially awkward because she does this thing where she “speaks in public”)
I want to kiss you again (and boy, do I want to kiss you again, but I will never EVER initiate anything without your consent. On the other hand, if you blindside me—-I won’t protest.),
but more than either of these things,
I want to (if I am ever/even lucky enough to be considered) be your friend.
We didn’t have a beginning,
but I won’t be shocked if there is an end.