I’ve dreamed about you so many nights I could swear those dreams were memories and not my brain fulfilling my deepest desires. God knows I have had daydreams of you where it felt too real to have been make-believe. I sometimes wake up thinking you had an arm draped around me but when the haze lifts, I realize that there was nothing. You’re like a phantom limb I keep on feeling even if you weren’t actually there. You’re the first person I look for in a crowd, the first person I look at for a reaction when I tell a joke, or say something, or hear something, in the hopes that you’d find me hilarious or that we’re in the same wavelength and maybe sort of kind of perfect for each other. I don’t know when I became this pathetic, pining for a man who doesn’t see me that way. Why do I do this to myself? Why is it easy to fall but herculean a task to move on?
I have spent an inordinate amount of time imagining how I’ll tell you how I feel but as Gloria Estefan crooned, the words got in the way. I could never say the words. My guarded self wouldn’t let me. I keep looking for clues, even just a hint, that maybe you have been thinking about me as much as I think about you. No, I don’t even need you to think of me as much. I think about us enough for the two of us. But at least think of me? Do you do that? Do I sometimes cross your mind? Better, do I sometimes sneak on your mind and you don’t know why? I guess I just need something concrete before I go take a risk. I’m like that, I’m safe. This heart is a fortress.
Do I have to say the words? (Do I have to tell the truth? Do I have to shout it out? Do I have to say a prayer? Must I prove to you how good we are together? Do I have to say the words? Thank you, Bryan Adams.) Can’t you feel it with every little thing I do for you? With how much I text you? Need you? Consult you? With how much I spend time with you? Include you? Can’t you? Are words really the be-all and end-all?
I guess friends cook for friends. I guess friends make cakes for friends. I guess everything I have done can be construed as me being nice and such a great friend. How would you know anything, when I do this for your friends too? I mean, my friends too, since I’ve befriended them just to try and be closer to you. I guess it was wrong of me to expect you to get inside my fortressed heart and know it. I guess words are indeed the be-all and end-all.
It could have been you. Alas, I didn’t let you. No, that’s inaccurate. Not so much as inaccurate but incorrect. It could have been you but I didn’t let it.
Edit: And now, I know, that it would have never been you because I did say the words and you don’t like me that way. Heh. And now I’m over you. Funny how angsty I could be, in retrospect.