awkwardness

I would climb a mountain. I would work in ways I have never done so in my life. I will sweat, sacrifice and leave it all on the table. I would follow my dreams just to follow you along yours. I would conquer my fears, leap ahead of the rest of the pack, all to be able, to be honored, to be with you. 

I don’t want you to sacrifice your dreams so we could be together; I know I would hate myself more than you could hate me if I asked you to do that.

I want to be someone, someone who can offer you something. I’m not there yet, but I will be, and maybe it’s for the best for now. 

I want to come home, go to your house or whatever our living conditions are; take you out, and just listen to how your day went. Then just take you home and fuck your brains out, make you just loose it and then just look into your satisfied eyes and see that fire you show no one else but me.

I remember the first time I saw it in your eyes, the fire, that sly smile of desire. Your head laying gently on my chest, maybe that’s the moment I felt I would need you. And I was scared; I didn’t want to open myself to heartache. 

Every afternoon, without even thinking I would start to look at the glass doors of the library every time the opened. I told myself I was looking at the visitors that came every day to sloth around the library. But I was always looking for you, and as the days passed my heart would slowly sink if you didn’t cross those doors. 

When you sat near the coffee area, reading a book or checking papers from work, all I could do was just look at you. Gaze buried in pages, sometimes even of books I had recommended. Your hair hanging loose and fanned across your shoulders, fiery, and all I could think about was throwing you on my bed and ripping off your dress. Such a desire as I had never felt, a desire never tamed by just lustful passion or intercourse. 

Our chests one against the other our hearts beating, escaping the clutches of our chests in stupidly repetitive phrasing, so... Arghgh. I can’t, it’s so, so, all I can do is regurgitate stupid clichés, pre made phrases. All I really do know is that I need you, like I have never needed anyone, that I closed my heart because of fear and you inspired me to pry it open myself. And yet I don’t know if I will ever have you again. Actually I may have already lost you. And yet even if I never listen to your voice, the one that slowly dissipates from my memory and keeps me awake at night in a vain effort to hold onto it; you’ve taken a sliver of my soul, my heart. And if I never see you again I will never get it back, and that is what heartbreak is to me.