Freeflow 8

"Hands down, I'm too proud for love, but with eyes shut, it's you I'm thinking of..."

You know what I find peculiar? When I like a guy, I dream about him. Hope that doesn't sound stalkerish, cuz it's true! And my dreams are never, and I mean never normal, so he could be anything from a main character to a man making a cameo appearance. Another sleepless night, another {DD} post. Ha, I really do write at the twilight hours. And I can't tell you how many good poems I've lost because I was too lazy to rollover and find a pen and paper. But that's beside the point. It feels wonderful to be writing a freeflow again.

I feel bad because I can't see him. I...just can't see him in the state he's in. I went at the worst, and I know I can do the best but this in-between stage, I can't handle for some reason, and it eats me alive every time I go home. He knows, he knows I will always love him somewhere in this heart of mine, but I...I don't know. If that's true, then why can't I go see him? Because I can sit next to him but I'll have to text all correspondence? Because he's not the him that I remember? Because I might be fucking uncomfortable. HE is what's important, but I might be uncomfortable. Bullshit, right? But I don't want to be uncomfortable around him. I want to laugh, and play, and give him a hard time, like I'm used to. But nothing will ever be like it used to.

"I hope they never find out what they already know, know, know...as soon as its official, we'll have to let it go, go, go..."

Can I be selfish? Can I be a thief in the night and steal moments with you? Could I pull of the biggest heist for your heart? But I don't want stolen goods, no matter how good they make me feel. Cause you've got that whip-appeal! Lmao...silly me. I hate to jump when my phone rings, thinking it's you, and it's another damn facebook party invitation or message, that frustrates me. I set a ringtone that's just for you, so when I hear it, I'll know exactly who it is. But I don't think you'll call. Six degrees of separation, seven digits away, eight minutes since your last text, nine clouds until bliss, ten times intensified is the pain I feel, because I can count all I want, but it won't bring me not a minute, or a mile, or a mistletoe closer to your kiss, so there's a few more numbers to count. You're the one that got away, because our two is a three, I don't know what four (for), but high five to the girl who got there first, although I'd like to be infinity, our number is non-linear, it doesn't even exist in reality. Until...next lifetime I guess...I'll meet you in my dreams, still hoping for the day that my phone rings, but I won't count on it.