etcetera

You were everything to me.  Of course that was my fault, you didn’t ask for it.  I’m not blaming you.  I’m just telling you that you were everything to me for the first time, ever.
I’d always wondered if that was possible, you know?  To be into one girl only and hold that interest without losing it.  To make her everything.  I always thought a girl would like that and it would make her feel special.  Maybe it depends on the guy making her their everything.
Did you know what I was like before you pressed your body against mine in that dark hallway?  I wasn’t just a new interest to pass the time, was I?  I know that’s how you got around.  You’d find a guy and fuck him until he got boring then move onto the next.  I guess I knew what you were like and didn’t care.  I still don’t.  I’ve always admired women who own their sexuality and body and used it as they deem fit.
But me, did you know about me?  I’m not sure you did.  I’m kind of fragile.  Not to anyone though.  I’ve got a wall up and I don’t let a lot of people in.  The exterior is the goofy, dork most people see.  The guy who just likes to have fun.  There’s a second layer that is a little more serious and discerning.  He talks about things intelligently and has an actual personality.  Then there is the third layer.  The reality.  The whole enchilada.  I let you in there.
The reality is that I’m fragile, as I said.  I’m weak.  I love.  I cry.  I hold on too tight.  I don’t stop because when you find something special you don’t stop.  You can’t stop.  I’m tired of people who have something special treating it like a fucking game.  It isn’t a game.  When you love someone you do anything to make them smile.  You give up yourself for them and they should give up themselves for you.  If you can’t do that then why are you together?

There is a difference between being in love and loving someone.  You can love someone and not want to give up your world for them.  You can love someone and want to be with them some of the time.  You can want to fuck them.  You can want to fuck other people.  You can want to hang out or be alone.  You can love someone and still be yourself.
When you’re in love with someone it all changes.  You have your own identity but when you’re in love with someone all you ever want to do is make them happy.  You live your own life but you think of them randomly and it makes you smile.  You send them messages and leave them love notes when they won’t expect it.  You do so many things to make their days and nights better and you don’t expect anything back, but you know you’ll do it in their own way and own time.
There is no jealousy when you’re in love.  You love them for who they are and know they’ll love you back.  Unfortunately you can be in love with someone and they can not be in love with you.

So, I’m in love with you.  I never stopped being in love with you and I’m fine with that.  I’m fine with being in love with you and never having you.  I know its an idea that will never come to fruition and it’s basically make believe.  I know all of this and I don’t care.  It doesn’t make me love you any less.
The feeling I had when we were together was the most incredible feeling I can remember.  I never stopped smiling.  Seeing you gave me a runner’s high.  Spending nights with you couldn’t have been improved upon.  Laying with you on the couch while the hum of the room buzzed and we whispered in each other’s ear was perfect.  Transporting that scene to anywhere in the world would not have made it any better because wherever you and I were was paradise.
I love you.  I’m in love with you.  It will never stop.  I don’t know if you ever thought it was sincere when I told you but it has to be sincere.  I’m not just saying it.  A person can’t feel this way and not mean it.

I miss you every day.  Nothing is the same.  That’s my fault, I know.  I want to write a book for you.  I still want to find your smile.  I want to read your hand written notes and your silly doodles that you make while your in your Thursday morning meetings.  Tell me another dumb joke.  Fall in to me.

This isn’t what I wanted it to be.  Now its just me rambling, which is fitting.

2 thoughts on “etcetera

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