I never cared much
   for seeing myself
   until I saw my face reflected
   in the love within your eyes.
And I was never the biggest fan
   of my name
   until I found out how it tasted
   on your tongue.

Some days
in the middle of getting ready
I'll have to stop and
go lie down for a few,
utterly exhausted
by the mere act of getting up.
These are the days
I know, I know,
****.
I'm depressed.

I have no strength
to face the day.
I want to call into work,
sorry, I just can't.
Go back to my bed,
let my blanket swallow me up.
Make a black hole of myself,
cease existing,
if only for a day,
just to recover myself again.

Standing in the middle
of an Old Navy,
waiting on my boo
to finish trying on clothes.
I always feel so out of place
shopping for cute things,
like I'm just not girly enough.
I'd rather go play around
in the toy aisle.
I never was one for matching
prints and colors
and figuring out make-up patterns.
Maybe one day I'll grow up,
figure this stuff out,
but god, I hope not.

Standing in a room of hundreds,
a cacophony of voices rising
to form a moving mass
of noise and confusion.
You look down at me and smile,
swing your arm up to
its familiar position on my shoulder.
I encircle my arms
around your waist,
their rightful place,
and wrap my brain
with nothing but thoughts of you.
And inside my mind,
a quiet peacefulness settles.

**** I'm so scared
and I'm so in love with you
but I don't have a **** clue
how I'm supposed to trust
that what we have is the thing
gushed about in movies,
and swooned over in novels.
How the hell does anyone decide
that they know with all certainty
and perfect clarity
that that one person
is their one person,
the one meant to be?
I notice little things that irk me,
rub my nerves until they fray
and I wonder, will those
be the things that bring about
the death of us?
Or am I overreacting, overanalyzing
every single moment that passes
because I'm just so ******* scared
of what the future could possibly be.
Because ****, am I scared  
But ****, am I in love with you.
And the biggest torture
of our relationship is,
I don't know which
of those parts of me will win.
Because no matter how much
I am in love with you,
****, am I scared.

There's a beast inside my head
throwing his fists against my brain
and with every breath I take
in, out,
I feel as if I'm riding upon
the crest of a wave
up, down,
a terrible journey
I never intended to take.

But enveloped within
your arms so tightly,
your chin resting on my head
oh so lightly,
I find myself within a cocoon
of safety, comfort.

You leave far too soon,
and I wish I could keep you
here with me at all times.
But even after you've gone
I dream of you,
and when I wake
you're the first thought
that flutters into my mind.
And I am calmed.

"Don't go," I beg yet again.
"Do you want me to stay?" you ask, and I'm really quite confused as to how you aren't seeing that every single action of mine is pleading with you to stay with me tonight. I need you, need you to show me you love me in the most nonphysical and physical ways both, and at the same time I need you to understand all of that without me having to come right out and ask for it. I'm not trying to play mind games. Not at all. I need you, need you in the purest, rawest sense of the word. Yet no matter how many signals I put out they all slip past you. And after you leave, I lie there and cry to myself. Completely alone.