Being stuck in between not knowing where you're heading towards is one of the worst possible things that could happen. Especially when the other person is so, so fine. And you're not.
I over think on a whole new level and I'm not sure why. I actually try hard to stop but it just doesn't work out for me. Almost every time I'm stuck here with the same thought "why me?"
You said we've seen each other ten times only, but darling why is that not enough to know that I love the smile on your face each time I say something stupid? How can two people know their hands were made to be held by each other during the first time they laid eyes on one another, but ten times is too little for you?
Let me tell you something. This is a letter I'll write to you outlining all the things I would never admit to, all the things you'll never know. But it will at least be out of my system and on the face of this page once I've let it out.
The first time I saw you, I couldn't stop smiling. You kissed me on a dark street corner and I moved away all too quickly, not because I wanted to but because I didn't want to ruin the start of something new. Sometimes physical affection comes later - I knew we were more than that the first time I ever saw you.
I don't remember how it was after that - but I remember snippets of every little thing that I knew I'd write about some day. Like the time I spread honey and sugar all over your face and caught you by surprise to kiss you whilst your eyes were closed. You pulled me towards you and said "that was beautiful, come here". I don't think I'll ever forget that moment. Or the time you told me I make you smile, that I make you happy and all those times I didn't say it back because I was too afraid of placing my happiness in your hands for you to do as you wish.
The fourth or fifth time I saw you was also magical. We kissed for two hours underneath a broken umbrella, in the pouring rain to old school jazz music that seemed to go on for hours.
The sixth time we threw caramel popcorn at each other like five year old kids in the cinema. You chased me down the stairs and kissed me on the escalator and then we walked past the strangers on the street and laughed at how silly they looked in comparison to how happy we were. I like the way you kissed my scars and rarely told me I'm beautiful. I like the way you've memorised how I like to crack my fingers and the way we compare the volume of the noises we make when we crack our bones.
I like the way you sing so terribly and pay attention to me singing only to mock me later. I like the way you frustrate me so much at times, but I'm glad because it makes me feel alive. I don't like comfortable, I don't like conformity. I like the way there's something playful behind your eyes, a sense of mystery that I'm still trying to unravel. I like the way you squint when you're trying to understand me too.
So, darling, tell me why ten times isn't enough?
Because to me it very well is. So gently let me go now before I fall into this well of nothingness once again, deeper and deeper. If not, cling on to me because I'm slipping away from this inconsistency. This tendency you often have.
I like the good things about you. I like the bad things about you. You ask me what I want from you - and the answer is nothing. I don't want anything but you. Wholly, completely, wrapped in a box with a warning sign on one side and a white oleander on the other. You're a flawed, beautifully ugly being and I could fall for you if you let me.
Why do you take me down this road, when you don't wanna walk with me?
- Tegan and Sara
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