I told you. I told you so many times my words no longer work. They leak my purpose and bleed my feelings. But, what else do I have? How can I begin to show you these feelings, without words? I could bind them up in something made of my hands. I could find that thing you most want and sacrifice all I have to get it for you. To what end? Will that make you love me? Do you even like me?
I have spent some time thinking about these words. Like how the right words at the right time seem to float to me on a melody. I can sing it a million times and it never gets old, but does it apply to you? I want to reach out and touch you. Maybe that is the right way to tell you. Can I transform the guarded looks, and the distant temperament into looks of admiration and tenderness. I have and so what? they still do not speak to you.
What about dinner? Could I take your jacket and hang it along side mine? or maybe I could let my hand touch yours as we pick up the same bowl from the floor. What if I had made your bed? Would you know then? Could you tell? My life is made in music. I am singing to you. Have you heard me yet? Or do you block out my voice every chance you get. Are you really as open I think you are?
I know what I can do. I can take these words and lay them face up on the table. I could go all in and never look back. If I lost it all who cares. At least I played the hand. At least, I had the courage to lift the toilet seat when I was done and take the early morning hours to watch you breathing while you sleep. I want to be safer than a cradle and more sensual than silk on bare, smooth skin. I want to get lost in you, but do you even want me at all?
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