When I think of you my insides get very squirmy like a barrel of live fishes. I do not know if I like it or not. It sometimes seems as if maybe I am full of you and there is no room left for me or my thoughts. I think I’m okay with that part of it. There is no shortage of thoughts to be thought, I am sure.
I find your way of being in the world **** and soothing. Your mind smells very comforting to me and the smell sticks in my soul for what feels like ages. It smells like a room made of great dark wooden shelves full of books and a big leather chair next to a tall window open to a view of the woods and the rain. Maybe a hint of bourbon and cigar smoke hang in the air. I would love nothing more than to curl up in this room and lose myself.
It can be hard to breathe when you are close. If you do go out of your way to smell nice, I would probably miss it. (Because it’s hard to breathe, you know.) If I didn’t miss it, I might pass out from trying to catch my breath.
I told you once that I don’t like it when you touch me. That it makes me crazy. I have wondered since why I said that when what I really meant was that your slightest touch sets my insides off like a ******* carnival ride. I very much do want you to touch me I just couldn’t trust how I felt about all the touching. I was afraid that when you touched me, however innocently, you would feel my soul quiver and you would recoil. It seems that you really pluck my strings. Even if you don’t mean to be doing it.
When you place your body too near mine ‘in my bubble’ I feel as if I am a little waterfall and you are putting your fingers in the water to see it interrupt the flow. I do not really mind the interruption but I am wary of letting it become a habit. I believe that you merely explore your environment like a curious child and will be moving on once satisfied so I try not to hold on too tight. But I want to devour you completely all the same.
I know that you have mind bullets, even if you don’t. Thus I am not sure if my impressions are my own psychotic creation or if you have somehow gained access to my brainspace. Maybe I’m paranoid. You have certainly spent enough time on my mind to at least be cordial with the doorman. That is an invitation of sorts. I wonder if you simply accepted the invite or if I have made a hostage of you in my mind. Because I’m not sure I believe that you actively sought entrance to this carnival.
Every bit of what falls from your lips in my direction is almost lost in the scramble to decipher the real meaning. There are so many layers to human experience. I have difficulty keeping my awareness on the proper layer at the proper time and thus I agonize over all that might’ve been meant by what was actually said. I assume you are speaking on more than one level at least some of the time, but you know what they say about assuming. Your words often feel heavy with extra meaning, but I never seem to catch on in time or have a clever enough response. I long to crawl inside your mind and rummage through until I find the section regarding layers of awareness. That would definitely be a conversation worth having.
When you asked if there was anything in your moustache and made that sweet face I wanted to tell you “Kisses!” but I did not know if you really only meant “Is there something stuck in my moustache?” Or if you knew that they were there and wanted assistance with their removal. So I just told you “Nope.”
I wish I would’ve said anything else.
Late Spring 2016 This was the first thing I wrote in over 2 decades. It felt really, really good; but I'm not sure that's an indication of quality.