Interested

I wonder if you heard his voice, would something shift in you, too. There's something harmonious in it. His face is magnetic, it draws the eyes and they relax there from the strain of searching. I soon found myself brimming, one more laugh or syllable, could send me over in slow moving rivulets.

I tried to devour his ideas. They were sifted through the best minds and, somehow, seemed truly original. 

There's something to the turning of his mind which caused me to fold over in myself. I was trying to dial a woman in myself to meet him. Then figured out, I was already all of her. I stopped dialing.

Somewhere in it, I got to experience his touch. It made me remember those times when I thought I looked damn fine. It came without censorship, all of me was welcomed.  If only I could take back my first touch, though. I remember the symmetry of his shoulders. I remember his kiss on my third eye, it's still blinking in response.  

I just forgot to ask enough questions. Thinking I would run out of me, I forgot to draw out the between essence. The essence between suffered from the twisted words and thoughts bound in their own limits. Reactions, so well worked-out, conditioned by people we both could not unravel our true selves from. 

I couldn't show I was attached, it would be too much. I couldn't show the fear of chipping off his being from mine like nail polish. 

Now, I know what it means to be interested, to be curious and fearless. I know what it means to investigate someone, not for my benefit or enhancement. I can feel the depths of what it means to know someone, wanting to know what the silence between words are saying. The inextinguishable being inside of both of us that we share. I'm interested in knowing who you are, because of him.