Please excuse my handwriting, I can’t stop my hands from shaking. If you didn’t sing that you’re a disgrace. If you did, let’s go for karaoke sometime?
Seriously though, my hands are shaking because you make me really nervous. Can you tell? Because you make me tremble and not in the way I want you to. Grown women shouldn’t tremble, certainly not like this. Apologies, I digress.
My stomach feels weird when you tell me about them. Are these butterflies or do I need to deworm? It doesn’t matter anyway because butterflies are just beautiful worms with wings. Gross but come on, we don’t always have to romanticize everything. That’s something new I’m trying by the way; hopeless romantics this might be your cue to leave. This is about to become hopeless.
There goes my stomach again when you talk to me about your love prospects. How you describe her body with lust. How you talk fondly of your conversations in the dark. And your dates? Oh, don’t get me started on those. You say you had fun though so good for you. I’m having fun too you know. I’ve been on a couple of dates myself and I’m leaning towards this one guy. He’s funny and corny as hell, we have that in common.
But how come you’re the one on my mind? I’m on a date with this amazing guy thinking about how I can’t wait to get home and tell you all about it. I want to tell you everything. I want to share my corny jokes with you. I want to tell you about that funny couple arguing in the matatu today. Premium entertainment, the kind you enjoy. Or about how I wanted to call you from work yesterday because I was really anxious and somehow your voice calms me. Goodness your voice! I could listen to you talk all day, feel free to indulge me. Talk to me about anything really. Anything except them. I can’t stand hearing you gush about the others. I mean, what about me? I deserve to be gushed about too. I want you to think of me like that. I want you to talk about me just as much. I want to be the one going on those fun dates with you. I want you.
What is happening to me? This was never the plan. I hate how intense this is becoming. I’m trying to be subtle about it, throwing in hints here and there. It’s not working though because you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Love is blind, so I forgive you. Assuming that this is love. Is it not? Tell me what it is! Then I’ll tell you that I love you. I’ll tell you that I want to be with you, that I yearn to know everything about you. I’ll tell you everything I feel about you because I feel too much. But too much of anything is dangerous and that scares me shitless. I fear that I’m getting obsessed with you, but can you blame me? Looking like that?
Enough! No more romanticizing things, this is complicated. The truth is, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with you. I expect too much from you but it’s not any less than that I am willing to give of myself. I want us to be vulnerable together. But how can we? When we can’t even be together? When I can’t even be direct with you about this? Yes, I’m a coward. But only because I don’t feel safe with you. Only because I feel like all these emotions are unrequited and nothing hurts me more.
We’re radically different and it shows. Maybe we can work around it, maybe not. I don’t know if I’m willing to take that risk. Are you? Are you even going to know that this one’s about you? I think not, although my expectations want me to believe otherwise. So how about I have none? How about I let this go now before it goes too far? How about I think of you as nothing more than my muse because I know that to be true? I should stop being selfish with you because you’re not even mine to begin with. I should end this here because it isn’t going anywhere. Might as well deworm now, it’s about time. Silver lining? Thank heavens I can feel again!
In another life.