Would I lie to you, what for, what good lies in saying I feel what I do not? Lies and lies that seem to pass uncaught. Yes and I think you lie when you stay put, non responding. Do you fear it more than I do? You’re afraid of attaching to someone who’s exotic, that isn’t yourself. But what is life if not a tale that longs for something else we didn’t know and suddenly come to love.
That’s why I find exquisitely strange that one could maintain such a stand, of serenity in the face of what is clear. And we felt each other long enough to understand that this isn’t meant to pass unnoticed, as I’ve found too much in you so far, and about you, that I don’t know, but I know you smile, and listen and doesn’t that mean something, what I want it to mean? I think you did mean it too, maybe unconsciously or inconsiderately but we once or twice, countless times we touched to rise a spark and it shined bright. Would we keep being this blind forever if nothing forces us to?
Complex you are, overclear I end up being without too much preaching. I needn’t say too much to inflict all I need, cause you’re sensible enough, or so I find you. Maybe I’m just on a loop that is walled with what I mirror. But if everything I give out is that impression of passion, would I ever get hurt in this pretty enclosure? A pot inside of which I keep glancing upon a dream that blushes as I face it. You, a faintness, dreams aren’t truthful nor loyal to what is possible, and I crave not any kind of phantasm. For ghosts, I’ve known a few and loved them. And the thing I found is that they neither gave much nor took it away from me. So please, don’t build your way up to be just another spectre of mine, give me instead what you’re dying to, what I keep seeing, every time you eyes dare not lie.