It's not the way you are, dear.
It's the way my emotions reach their peak at 2 a.m.
when I'm alone with my blank canvas and endless list of fears
and you're going on the adventure I so desperately want to join you on.

It's the way my cobwebbed thoughts and overzealous daydreams intertwine
like my collarbones ache to be danced on,
while you're being the kind of free I've written about for years
and shedding your past of broken promises and disappointments.

It's the way I constantly grasp for a firm hold on a spark,
any kind of sweet nothings or a flick of an eye that tells me you want this
as bad as I do.
You're terrified of the future and I'm terrified of my past.

There's galaxies between our faults but inches between our lips
for a weekend, and it's the happy ending I crave
but it's only salt on my wounds when you have to pack your bag
with work clothes and every stumbled over "I love you."

This X marks the spot of where I used to feel okay
and your birth mark has lipstick stains from my rituals of
fixing this but they're fading every day I don't get to
bury my face in your sweatshirt and wrap myself in you.

This is my failed attempt at getting used to being attached but alone
At being at my most vulnerable state
And being in love with someone who will never understand.

Tell me, then, why isn't this working if opposites attract?