herlucidlife

I feel like I’m being played or maybe I’d like to think I got played so then everything would make sense. Even on my best days you’re still there lurking in the catacombs. Soft, faint, your quiet presence is nothing but screeching. I see so much of myself in how you hold in, I don’t want to come off as though I know all about you because I really don’t. Yet you not speaking has somehow shown more to me that makes you, human, my eyes water at the thought of your human experience because mine has been rough. 

Granted some of those falls I brought on myself but others were rolled into form before I was even breathed. I can accept that maybe I’m not the body you want to speak too, and that’s okay, but you’re the body I want to speak too. Tell me anything, I’ve told you everything, and then too much. I can’t even truly help you outside of anything, it’s all emotional. You have so much to say I can see it brimming. 

I can’t fathom how I became so enthralled over you, a guy, normal yet radiant all in one swoop. Perhaps this is too sappy and I’m going over the line, but my goodness lines have already been crossed. The boundary line keeps moving with vulnerability, I’m looking for depth so deep I need a suit to enjoy the view. I read between lines so hard I’m almost seeing your full spirit. I lie, I’m guessing at best, this is a hypothesis, I’d like to think that I identify with you. 

You’re my friend, meaning we have things that connect emotionally, we identify with each other in some way. Perhaps ours is the baggage we carry, mm scary I’m speaking in “we” and “our”. We aren’t anything, so I identify with you. I’m really hurt, I can’t stop thinking about who you’re talking to, that’s not me. I’m jealous of an imaginary person, that’s none of my business. 

My mindset is based on a  world that doesn’t exist. Thinking it so much that it almost feels like I can will it from sheer power, but I can’t. I want to be that person or heck included in the circle of people you do talk too, but see even that is me being selfish. Arms length, the distance is visible. I pray, maybe, one day, if it’s in the plans that God painted, if it’s in your role of obedience, that, maybe you could let me have just a little piece of what you hold. The load is lighter together, because before I signed on for anything more I was always signed up for, friend.

Giggling, all I can think is what if you’ve read my letters, and just maybe that’s why you don’t tell more. Maybe it’ll end up here ? First it would have to pass my heart, look at me trying to convince a screen to share more, goofy I’m losing it. The realization because I still want to try it at the off chance you believe my sincerity. Even in my most fragile state I would never intentionally cause you grief, and if I did then my goodness I apologize. I hate to think that I was a part of the rough patches in your life, never wanting to be a thorn. 

The mindset is that as long as I’m wanted, needed I guess, then I’ll always have a small piece, looking for crumbs. They say love is irrational, I’m living proof because even my outer body is looking at me like, “my goodness could it get any deeper ?” In my mind there’s no loss just you, even crumbs can fabricate a slice.