Sunday, September 9

Me, an Isle

With the windows down and sitting directly behind your seat in the car, my head leans on the window sill and through the side mirror, I smile at you. This isn’t a foreign feeling. I get like this sometimes, totally and utterly beguiled. It's very comforting, and, at the same time, very intimidating and paralyzing knowing that you could somehow possibly love someone wholeheartedly. Even if temporary, I’d like to think you could be that person. You're awfully alluring. With similar cadence and excitement, you remind me of jazz. You make me feel privileged, usually for more reasons than one, on almost all occasions. You're refreshing nature makes me feel refurbished, not quite new, but working again and maybe worth something. I'd like to get to know as much about you without being classified as a phishing scam. However, I wouldn’t want to offset my longing by asking the wrong question or speaking the wrong exaggeration. So, I’m caught in a bind of using suggestive hints that are implicit enough, but not too obvious and repulsive. There’s a certain kind of difficulty to say that you're the equivalence of an emotional defibrillator. You are my second wind, and I’ve been weary on this journey. Your laugh is actively undoing years of programmed disbelief in the possibility of loving. However long idle, your smile makes you someone to wait for. I wish my rules and morals didn’t forced me into this passiveness. I can't seem too interested like there’s isn't so much interesting. I just hope that my patience doesn't remove your enamor and effectiveness. It’s difficult when today I found another flaw of yours to love. How do I show you your strengths, without exposing my weaknesses? I feel embarrassed when I know too much and speak too soon. I wish I could verbalize the things that make me gravitate to you. Then, I wouldn’t transgress from the laws of attraction. The same ones that say my interests shouldn’t shifted so quickly to those of yours. Now sifting through my ambitions, I can’t think of any more important now than things involving you. I can’t let you know it. You have me wagering my independence for a blanket, wine, and a night’s worth conversation. This newfound vulnerability is the byproduct of your placid disposition. If it were not only my eyes that were mesmerized. The way you move has my brain running to document footnotes of your nuances. You bring color to music. I listen to songs and imagining you dancing. I listen in on your body language for the slightest invitation to a nonverbal agreement, some form of reciprocating desire. Until then, I’m saving some of my best memories for you. I want to hold your hands and spin us around vigorously until the background became unrecognizable. That way there'd be no distractions keeping me from focusing on you. My vision is blurry, but the bokeh is beautiful. I’m feeling too much, doing too much, and now writing too much. This has becomes less about who you are and more about who I become when I'm around you. I feel less like an isle when surrounded by you.

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