Have you ever longed for a stranger?
Do you find yourself zoning out, looking forward to remembering their mannerisms and quirks?
Writing of memories from a time yet to come—it's both hopeless and hopeful at the same time.
To get excited about something or someone coming from a time and place of uncertainty, that should make me feel something else aside from excitement itself.
Fear? I fear not. It's all anticipation running around my haywire of a head.
When you see me or when I see you for the first time,
What will you be wearing? In what color?
Would I be sad and sober? Or would I be happy-drunk?
As embarassing as it would be, we know we'll have to talk to each other, exchange a few words or we could say things enough for both of us to fall in love with each other right then and there.
Would I passively tell you how I hate that week or would I start to tell you about my contradicting dreams of setting out a life of restless travels
and living in a quaint little apartment that sees a good amount of morning light and how it's going to be filled with wilted flowers, antiques and fifteen cats?
I know I would want both although it's careless and contradicting. But this is just one and I have a house full of them.
Do you even think dreams have to be logical?
Do you believe that we have to be careful in order to get to our dreams or do we go the exact opposite way?
I hope you'd share some of your dreams, too. The more careless, the better.
Would my heart still be beaten up to a pulp by then or would it beat foolishly once more like a brand new snare?
How about you? I wonder how your heart would sound, even now.
Is it punk rock one minute and classical the next or perhaps Disney when you're spacing out?
And I can only wish you're not even half of the lunatic that I am, because I know I need a bit of a balance in my life right now but hey, whatever and whoever you are, come as you are anyway. It's just a wishful thought.
Would I even get lucky enough to come inside your room to dance and spill my last ounces of colors in every corner?
To splatter your walls with my poorly-written poems would be another careless dream to add up on my long list.
Would we like the same music? Would you like drunk dancing as much as I do? Would you prefer watching the moonlight or basking in the setting of the sun? Would you fancy my humor? Would we romanticize escaping reality and the city because we know it imprisons us like nothing and nowhere else? Would I hesitate or anticipate seeing you for the second time? Would you anticipate seeing me over and over again even after seeing me cry because I'm too drunk or too sad or too happy or everything at once? Would we surf with the currents or confine to the safety of the shore?
Or do we stay friends?
Or do we stay friends for only a night?
Or do we become strangers, just strangers?
Or do we become strangers again after being fiercely in love with each other for so long, after being there for each other through the sunny days and storms, after being friends, after we were strangers?
If you see me for the first time, I hope my made-up face and my ever unruly, hand-combed crazy hair would make up for my much crazier mind, to say the least.
But may we hurry up a little if we can, answer these careless questions before they pile up.
I'm drunk, so pardon the structure and all that sh-