I go to sleep wishing I'll dream of you
And that I'll wake up
Remembering what it was like when we touched.
Electric.
That's the word
The world is a carpet and I'd like to think we're just shuffling towards each other.
Waiting for the static shock to wake us up and realize we are more than skin and bones.
I sing songs for you hoping you'll walk in mid chorus.
I have hypothetical conversations with you in my head.
I have hypothetical conversations about having hypothetical conversations with you in my head.
I think, therefore you are.
I'm macaroni
You spilled me across orange construction paper and shaped me into something more
A dinosaur.
A Stick Figure Family.
A necklace.
A self portrait.
When I'm sprawled across my mattress and the telephone rings
I awkwardly jump to get it to see if it's you
And then hate myself for getting so excited
The pro's and con's of being brutally honest.
Sometimes we don't do things we want to do so that others will not know we want to do them.
The last time we touched sincerely was. Well
Physical sincerity between us hasn't been for quite a time.
I've decided I won't send this to you.
Nor will I delete it.
I'll probably bitch out and edit the shit out of this until it loses all context of you
Like everything else I write.
I start with you.
Change a name.
An eye color.
Until I can show you it and pretend I didn't pussy out.
And when you read it.
I like to think you know deep down that i wrote it for you.
Everything I write is for you
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