A Letter to You (11/11/13)

To You

I might be confusing sometimes, and it’s OK to think that. Sometimes I say nothing to you for weeks on end because I’m so scared that I’m clinging too much to you, and sometimes I think that I talk too much so I try and shut myself up. I might stare at your face while you’re talking and not hear a word, but I still love what you say, but I don’t get much opportunity to appreciate the way your mouth moves while you’re talking and how your eyes are the only ones that I want to see the darkest parts of me. If I laugh too hard, it’s because I love you, and if I walk home crying it’s because some things are too perfect for me to hold and you are one of them. I pull at my hair when I ask you a question and it’s because I’m terrified, so terrified, that you will never love me in the way I love you, and I search in the darkest corners of my brain to find a new Muse but I never will. I’ll type until my fingers bleed and I’ll smile until my cheeks break with the strain and I’ll love you until my light goes out. If I could press my lips to yours, I would, and if I could touch your hand with mine, I would. I will glance at you over the rim of my cup and wish desperately that you were mine, and you will laugh and talk on, sweetly oblivious as you always are. I will hear myself in the ‘I love you’ but you will not be there in the ‘I know’, though I wish you were. You may have been made by God’s hand but He did not make you for me, you are the expensive model that I can only gaze upon and wonder what it would be like to touch. He meant to put love for you in another girl, all of it in another girl, and some fell over the other girls and it trickled into the hearts of me and her, and we will go on wishing for you because God willed you for another person. Maybe one day I’ll find someone better than you, but I don’t want to know him because I want to know you. I will carve my heart into a beautiful masterpiece and hand it to you, but you will not take it, and gently tell me that you appreciate the gesture. You might break my heart but you’ll be blindfolded, and you’ll think you’re mending me when you’re only making the cracks run deeper. 

From Me