I think you like the idea of me.
Because I’m unexpected.
I’m not obligations or schedules,
staring down the barrel of 25 years
that have already been planned out.
I’m spur of the moment
“Wanna grab drinks?”
and blowing off other plans.
I’m heavy breaths in parking garages
accidental brushes in passing.
I’m windows that slowly fog up
in your front seat
while we whisper even though we’re alone.
I’m kisses pressed up against alley walls
because you couldn’t control yourself one more second..
Headlights bouncing between irises in stolen glances
“Tell me you want me.”
I want you.
You say I’m intoxicating...
You like the idea of that.

But I like you.

See to me,
you aren’t an idea.
You’re laughing out loud for the first time in a while.
You’re hands shaking while I drive to meet you
lighting one last Newport
to calm my nerves in the parking lot.  
You’re silent wishes that you’ll kiss me around the next corner,
and forgetting we’re in public
because all I can see is you.
You’re whispering while I kiss you softly
because you’ve left me speechless,
and I'm scared to speak too loudly,
for fear that you'll disappear.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
I can’t.
Because this is real for me.
You're real, to me.

So how much longer do I wait
to be real to you too?