I don’t dwell in that memory as much as I probably should have because I remember you keeping your distance for the purpose of making the statement that whatever I had been hoping would happen was not going to, and well that’s a sad thing to acknowledge… someone you’ve wanted so badly just to be close to not share that feeling splinters deep.
Still though, when you’re in my proximity I drink it in.. I still feel giddy to be around you, and a not so small part of me wants to believe that your gestures are false and don’t reflect your actual feelings towards me, but as I see handsome you dozing in the chair after a late night of talking and gin, I tell myself I’ve fabricated another scenario that leaves me wanting someone who does not me.
But the way you smile over that cutting board and how the air feels different when your around creates this affectionate home within me. It seems so strange to want to cling so tightly to something as mundane as the passing of a pipe as I strain to collect all of the feelings in this moment.
I’m missing parts of conversations or if not missing, the words are fractured and disjointed in a way that makes it incredible difficult to get a good look at them. I still can’t decide if those oh so important words that I can’t seem to grasp hold of came from my mouth or yours.