Here I am again, writing about something I don’t want to say out in the open. I’m afraid because when I do, it will leave me with only two possibilities. The possibility of being rejected and the possibility of being vulnerable.
But here I am again.
Brave enough to write about one of my deepest fears – feeling something.
You feel like coming home. With you, it feels like the excitement of going home when I had a bad day. And despite of how my day went, I know you’re inside waiting and leaving the lights on for me.
You feel like a Sunday. You’re so easy to be with. You make me look forward to spending mundane and lazy days with you. And it would still feel magical.
You fit me like a last puzzle piece. You know that piece that you weren’t looking for turns out to be one who will complete the picture? You are that puzzle piece. I never thought you, of all people, would make sense of this mess I’m in.
I’ve been taking mental notes about you and your quirks and I’ve been trying to map out the timeline of your life that I only get to experienced in your stories.
I like the laugh you make when you see something petty but you think its the funniest thing ever. I love your childhood stories of how you ended up with stitches in the hospital. I love the sight of you getting excited over your favorite ice cream. I like how we love the same things – from Harry Potter down to the favorite football team.
But.
As much I’d like to admit how much I like you, I find myself terrified of you. You make me feel the cliche. You make me feel like I can breathe easy again. You make me feel like I’m …
(I’m still trying to figure out what this is but I hope you’re It)
eloquent without saying anything 