on my computer, this is called "everything i will never say safe"
i can't get to sleep, and you know why.
you must know. and i know you know, because i saw, as fast as you were, it wasn't fast enough, and i saw, and i don't know what to think anymore. i thought that maybe, if you understood, if i could explain, if i could say "i know i would love you if you'd let me." if i could say "maybe when we're older, maybe when we're grown up, you'll understand." if i could say anything to you along those lines, maybe it would all quiet down, and i could sleep. but instead, i'm sitting in my hallway under the fluorescent lights and they're making my head hurt.
i'm carrying tension in my neck again. i didn't, for a day. because you let me touch you. i don't know if you knew that last night i was rejoicing in every second of contact because i didn't think you'd let me do that again. and nothing happened, is the thing. i held you and you held back. i can always feel you holding back. and i don't understand. that's mainly it, i don't understand. i wish i did, because maybe, maybe then i could figure out what it is that i need to do to make you understand.
i would try for you. can't you see, i would let down my wall for you. i would let you terrorize my city. rape me, pillage me, ravish me. plunder me and take all that i'm worth, all that i am. take all of me and give me nothing in return. all i want is to be consumed by you. to be covered by you. i just, i don’t understand. i don’t. i wish i did.
i’m so tired. i can’t sleep during the day because i have too much to do. i have meetings. i have commitments. i have a life. i can’t keep putting it on hold just because you looked at me a little too long, or because you let your hand rest a scant and scandalous inch from mine.
you’ve stolen my sleep
it’s been days since i shut my eyes and it’s your fault. i suppose i should thank you - i love the color of my eyes when the circles are dark.
it’s like heroin chic, but dangerous and much more dear.
the air seems empty and
my breath is sucked out of my lungs before i can taste it.
it moves too fast and doesn’t notice me.
don’t you understand? this is ruining me. why can’t you see that? why won’t you help me? your soul is so good, but maybe i’m wrong about that. maybe it only looks good but on the inside, under the good samaritan, there’s a judas waiting patiently for a chance to show his face.
i can’t believe that could possibly be true. you’re too good. maybe that’s the catch-22 inherent in the plan. you’re so good that you’re too good for me.
i can’t believe that either. i think if you gave me time, if you let me grow on you, maybe, maybe you would see what you’re somehow missing. maybe you could let me know what that is. because i can’t stand how into you i am, but i don’t know that i can give you anything back. i don’t know if there’s any part of me that you want.
sometimes i think about when i was twelve, how old eighteen seemed. hell, when i was sixteen it still seemed forever away. now, well. what’s there to say? i’m getting older but i’m still so young. my age won’t catch up with me because it’s running ahead and leaving me behind.
i am so young.
i overthink every interaction. it’s premeditated and yet always comes out wrong - every breath is fraught with meaning. i want to say he’s just not that into me but i think you are. i think some part of you really is that into me. there’s just the bigger part that says this is a bad idea.
my writing isn’t good. yours is unbearable. i can’t stand to read it and know you are that good and that you felt that way about someone else. or that you could say it so well. there is no angst in your writing. there is a feeling of love lost but so grown up, so refined. my writing has angst. my writing is bad. it is hackneyed and awkward and wrong.
i am a child.
you are a man.
i am so tired.
all i can think of is how tired i am.
how feverish i feel.
how tightly bound my chest is.
all i want to do is sleep.
i am so tired.
is it really my fault if i need someone to hold my hand to get through it;
if i’m not strong enough to do it on my own?
is it really that bad?
i would, you know.
if you wanted me.