You and I, we play a dance.
For the past seventy-six days
we've come to know the steps
and learned to move to a beat
that only the two of us
seems to understand.
It doesn't matter
who texts "Good morning" first
or who starts what conversation
or who chooses the topic.
It doesn't matter
if we just sit in silence
comfortable in each other's thoughts,
"Talking" through telepathy.
It doesn't matter
that we can talk about the deepest
issues of our hearts
of our pasts,
one moment
then we start talking about
the most random,
borderline nonsensical,
often impossible and fictional
thought experiment kinds of stuff.
But it does matter
that we say "Good night"
and that often, we choose to sleep
at the same time.
It does matter
that we stay up late
as long as the other person
still has some rant he or she
has to say.
It matters
that we listen
and speak with honesty.
It matters
that you hold open doors for me.
It matters
that we show up early--
earlier than the time we agreed on.
That is something natural to me--
I hate being late.
But it matters
that you have never been late yet
to all our "dates"--
it matters because
you told me
you were always late.
It matters.
It matters to me
because, DT,
I love you.
I've chosen to love you.
But for now it matters
that I keep silent
because you are not ready.
It matters.
You matter to me.
Because I was overthinking again.
