you sat in front of me in math today
your hair is long
and I wanted to tangle my fingers in it
I wanted you to grab me
and push me against the wall
your thumbs on the skin of my hips
under the waistband of my jeans
I wanted to run my hands down your back
trace you
pull you towards me
clench your shirt in my fingers
I wanted to breathe like you teased me about
like we're running
and our hearts are hammering
and we're gasping
and we can't seem to get close enough
I wanted to be pressed to you
and breathe
and feel your chest push against mine as the air rushes into your lungs
I want your hands
(oh my god, your hands)
to go places that scare me
but not too much
because I'd know you cared
about how I felt
and you wouldn't want me to be afraid

I've decided that I'm sick
of *******

specifically
the kind with
long(ish)
scruffy(ish)
blond(ish)
hair and blueblue eyes
and a face
that makes my heart rise up
and beat in my throat
and my words catch
and stumble over themselves

because it's dawned on me that
being beautiful is not enough
and though some would argue
that he's not beautiful at all
sometimes I agree
sometimes not

like the day his braces came off and
suddenly I couldn't look
anywhere but his lips
and I couldn't think of anything but
french kissing
even though I've never really
kissed anyone
outside my head

or the day we were running
the worst hill
the hill of hills
over and over and over
and I noticed that
he has this splotch
below his ribs
which is darker than his skin
a birthmark
which somehow made my lips
curl in a small smile to myself
an imperfection within perfection
is perfection
in a way

but then he opens his mouth
and ruins it
and I'm sick of being disappointed
(although it's my fault too)

and so with that
I say
I'm sick of *******
because

kindness is striking
when you're used to loving someone
who isn't kind

when you've accepted
the carelessness
as if nothing matters
as if your heart doesn't matter  
as if you won't determine your own self worth
upon his interaction with you
you forget

but I'm done with that

this is not the end
but it is the beginning of it
and I'm glad because
I think it's best
for us both

and who knows
maybe someday
he'll figure out
how to be
something other than *******

I know we fight
(a lot)
I call you
horrible things that I rarely mean
and you take them
in, your thick skin
repels them
(except when it doesn't)
(because sometimes it doesn’t, I'm sure)

and yes
you hurt me too
sometimes without even trying
I envy
how easily some things come to you
things I can't seem to grasp
I feel inferior
and sometimes you try
and you taunt and jeer and jab
and unlike you
my skin is thin and
penetrable

but
I'm writing this
because you're the only one I have
I realized that
at dinner
last night
when the tension in the air
made my lip curl
like it reeked
and I felt hatred
prickling my skin
leeching out like steam

so
when the day comes
and our world has fallen around us
(hasn't it already?)
the only one
I will reach for
to pull to the surface
with me
through the crumbling
fragments
of false stability
and weak promises
to gasp
for a breath of
that weightless type of air
I ache to someday reach
is you

today,
I hang in the balance

I traipse the line between free
and consumed

because you spoke to me
again

really spoke
more than you really ever had
spoke like friends
(maybe more than friends)

and though I thought I was
prepared
I’d practiced
hating you
I’d gotten over it
found someone else
(though that’s not going particularly well)
but no

and I know you
that’s the hardest part
I know you

I know that this you
this you I’m falling for
again
after so many **** times
I’ve lost track

this is not you

this you is the quiet you
the you that likes me
because I’m feisty and a little
different
the you that teases me,
but never to embarrass
the you that knows I’m vulnerable
and cares
the you that flirts but doesn’t force  
that is kind and friendly and opens up
and tells me
quiet things

But I know that tomorrow
you’ll be someone else
in the hallway
in passing
across the room  

so I’ll miss this you
I’ll get over it
slowly,
as you proceed to ignore me

only to fall
once more
just when I think I’m free
a smile
thrown
as you round the corner
where I stand
your eyes crinkle
at the edges      
they see it all
and they know me
and my heart leaps
once again

you know
I know
It’s all happened before

It hangs  
Distorting  
Deceiving  
Unasked for
But welcomed
Unprotested

Its stillness reaches
Each of us
Invading hearts and minds
Slinking sultry serpent
We breathe it
Unbeknownst
Does it change us?

Maybe if I turn my head just slightly
Looking looking looking but
Not really looking
Maybe I'll see one

They habit the misty lands
Don't they?
It is there that they wander
There that they haunt
Is it not?

We fear them
The unknown
The unusual
The impossibility

But the fog whispers
Softly
To those who will listen

Do not fear the
Soft eyes a'smolder

Do not fear the
Wild windblown whisps
Lashes long
Shining flanks
Rippling silver

Do not fear them
Sometimes passing
Never staying
Everknowing
Drifting in silence
In and out
With the tides of the fog

do they imagine us
as we imagine them?

do they dream of us
as we dream of them?

when they hear
our names
do their hearts jump
in their chests
as ours do
when we hear
theirs?

do they smile
to themselves
at the thought of us
at the sight of us
as we do
at the thought of them?
at the sight of them?

maybe I'm oversensitive
overthinking
overachieving
overstressing
overdoing
but that does not mean
I suffer less
it means I suffer more
because I need others
to tell me
that I'm worth something
if not
then I'm worth  
nothing at all