I’m thinking of you again and trying to cry at the
same time. I find myself amusing, borderline stupid,
even. I spend formulating scenarios about us.
You and I walking from wherever urs to wherever, hands
clasped tight. We talk about your dream last night, my
dreams and the names of our future children. I look
into your eyes to search your soul. And you allow me.
I see myself standing at the center of your life. I am
happy, you are happy.
We walk over to your car, or my car, it depends on the
schedule. You get into the driver’s seat (you let me
drive when you have a headache) and we drive off into
the sunset, still talking about the great miracle that
is us. How we met, how we got together… the whole,
long story.
And when we’re not together, which is actually
possible, we’d talk about the same things we talk
about when we can hold hands. Then, we remind
ourselves that love is not the only thing we need to
live. We also need a little nourishment and some
sleep. So we put down the receivers either to eat or
to dream about each other.
Borderline stupid, because when I wake up from my
day/night dream, I remember that the only thing we
both love is our music, not beautiful sunsets nor each
other. And the only time I’ve held your hand is when
we got the same answer wrong in a quiz and you gave me
a high five. I’ve never looked into your eyes; you
wouldn’t let me. I don’t have a car and you don’t know
how to drive. The times we spend on the phone are
negligible. Compiled, they’d generously add up to
twenty minutes of airtime—all about the assignments
you failed to take down. You don’t love me.
The only real part of it all, I think, is the part
where I love you. Where I’m willing to give up and do
everything for you. When I wake up, reality shocks me.
The pain enters my body again, making me forget that I
forgot that you take my existence for granted. I
remember that you don’t talk to me; you don’t look at
me; you don’t hold my hand, at least not in the ways I
want you to, I need you to.
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