(no subject)
Do you remember the night we sat on the bench out in the garden? It must have been close to 11:00 in the evening, but the sun was sending us farewell kisses. You were sitting on my left. My arm was around you, and your head was resting on my shoulder. It wasn't until that moment that I understood the puzzle of happiness -- I felt your head fit on my shoulder as though God had planned it that way all along. I leaned my head on yours and pulled you tight in to me. In the sky, the first stars of the evening were showing their faces -- like angels coming to see.
Has your mind ever been so full that you were sure you couldn't fit in another thought? Have you ever been so certain, yet so confused at the same time?
Every time I look at you, I swear that I can see it in your eyes -- I can see that you look at me the same way. Every night when I say goodbye, I'm sure you're thinking the same things as me.
But every morning when I wake up, I inevitably question whether you really are. I know that the night plays tricks.
Here's the thing. I've shut myself off for a long time. I've been hurt in the past because I allow myself to imagine things that aren't there. But I've also been left alone because of my inaction. I never seem to get it right. So for the past two years, I've shut myself off. Isn't it easier not to fall if you never make the jump?
You're the first person that's changed my mind about this. I want to jump. I want to find the tallest cliff, climb the highest mountain. I want to close my eyes. I want to throw my arms out wide. And I want to run as fast as I can, and leap, and fly -- fly so far that I land with you in my outstretched arms. I never want to turn back, never look over my shoulder again. I never want to wonder what could have been had I done it. I never want to feel that hollow feeling -- you know the one, don't you? Right above your belly-button, and back just a little bit.
Where am I going with this? I feel like I could just keep going and going and I still wouldn't have said nearly enough -- not a fraction of the feelings rolling around in my head.
So is this fair to you? What if you don't feel the same way? Now I've compromised our friendship -- I've gone and messed up again. What if you feel that way for me, but you still feel the same way about him? Is that fair to you either? Is it fair of me to put you in to that situation?
But what happens if I close my eyes, and throw out my arms, and you come to me?
And what happens if I don't?
So do I jump? Do I risk the relative security I've comfortably wrapped around myself for the past few years? Is that fair to me?
Is it fair of me to do that to myself? Is it fair of me to do that to you? If I jump, doesn't that make me selfish? Wouldn't I be doing it for me? Does any of this make sense to you?
Sometimes I feel so guilty for feeling this way -- the thing I'm most scared of is hurting you, of putting you in an uncomfortable position. What it boils down to is -- I don't know. I just don't. I don't know anything anymore. I was so comfortable being an emotional fortress.
You shook my foundations, though, and I don't think you meant to do it. You made me want to change -- you make me want to change. You make me want to be a better man. For you. For me. You make me want to wake up every single day and make it a better day than the last. You make me want to be a man -- someone who can take care of you, someone who can be there for you, but also someone that isn't afraid to be taken care of, or to go to someone for help. You make me want to be everything I see in you. You make me want to be a good person.
Earlier, you kept asking me why I sit and listen to all the crazy stories you tell. I want to know everything about you. I just want to know what makes you tick. I keep hoping that I'll find a reason, some key for my feelings towards you -- but all I can come up with is. . . everything. Everything. So I keep searching.
Part of me wants to tell you how beautiful you are every time I see you. How I'm pretty sure -- I don't know how -- that God figured out how to put stars in your eyes. How your lips look like you've been eating raspberries or strawberries -- or maybe cherry jolly-ranchers. I want to tell you that the shape of your neck and shoulders is the kind of line that Michelangelo tried to draw every day of his life, but he never could. I want you to be me, just for a minute or two, so you can look at yourself with my eyes and see what beautiful means. At least what I think it means.
And then there's a part of me that doesn't want to say anything at all. I want to keep my secret. I don't want anyone to know how I feel. I don't want you to know how I feel. I want to be the stoic, the one who never flinches, the rock. I want to be the tough guy, the man. But sometimes its just so hard. I hate it when I have no control over a situation.
So, my rhapsodic saga, once again, takes no form or shape. Nor, do I think, does it make any sense of anything. I guess what this really is -- standing back and looking at it just now -- is kind of like a painting. Just like Water Lillies, you have a sense of what it is, but you can't set a clear definition of it. You either take it at face value as a collection of distorted thoughts and ideas, or you wrap it up in your own meanings and definitions. So that's that.
I hope you understand me.
Has your mind ever been so full that you were sure you couldn't fit in another thought? Have you ever been so certain, yet so confused at the same time?
Every time I look at you, I swear that I can see it in your eyes -- I can see that you look at me the same way. Every night when I say goodbye, I'm sure you're thinking the same things as me.
But every morning when I wake up, I inevitably question whether you really are. I know that the night plays tricks.
Here's the thing. I've shut myself off for a long time. I've been hurt in the past because I allow myself to imagine things that aren't there. But I've also been left alone because of my inaction. I never seem to get it right. So for the past two years, I've shut myself off. Isn't it easier not to fall if you never make the jump?
You're the first person that's changed my mind about this. I want to jump. I want to find the tallest cliff, climb the highest mountain. I want to close my eyes. I want to throw my arms out wide. And I want to run as fast as I can, and leap, and fly -- fly so far that I land with you in my outstretched arms. I never want to turn back, never look over my shoulder again. I never want to wonder what could have been had I done it. I never want to feel that hollow feeling -- you know the one, don't you? Right above your belly-button, and back just a little bit.
Where am I going with this? I feel like I could just keep going and going and I still wouldn't have said nearly enough -- not a fraction of the feelings rolling around in my head.
So is this fair to you? What if you don't feel the same way? Now I've compromised our friendship -- I've gone and messed up again. What if you feel that way for me, but you still feel the same way about him? Is that fair to you either? Is it fair of me to put you in to that situation?
But what happens if I close my eyes, and throw out my arms, and you come to me?
And what happens if I don't?
So do I jump? Do I risk the relative security I've comfortably wrapped around myself for the past few years? Is that fair to me?
Is it fair of me to do that to myself? Is it fair of me to do that to you? If I jump, doesn't that make me selfish? Wouldn't I be doing it for me? Does any of this make sense to you?
Sometimes I feel so guilty for feeling this way -- the thing I'm most scared of is hurting you, of putting you in an uncomfortable position. What it boils down to is -- I don't know. I just don't. I don't know anything anymore. I was so comfortable being an emotional fortress.
You shook my foundations, though, and I don't think you meant to do it. You made me want to change -- you make me want to change. You make me want to be a better man. For you. For me. You make me want to wake up every single day and make it a better day than the last. You make me want to be a man -- someone who can take care of you, someone who can be there for you, but also someone that isn't afraid to be taken care of, or to go to someone for help. You make me want to be everything I see in you. You make me want to be a good person.
Earlier, you kept asking me why I sit and listen to all the crazy stories you tell. I want to know everything about you. I just want to know what makes you tick. I keep hoping that I'll find a reason, some key for my feelings towards you -- but all I can come up with is. . . everything. Everything. So I keep searching.
Part of me wants to tell you how beautiful you are every time I see you. How I'm pretty sure -- I don't know how -- that God figured out how to put stars in your eyes. How your lips look like you've been eating raspberries or strawberries -- or maybe cherry jolly-ranchers. I want to tell you that the shape of your neck and shoulders is the kind of line that Michelangelo tried to draw every day of his life, but he never could. I want you to be me, just for a minute or two, so you can look at yourself with my eyes and see what beautiful means. At least what I think it means.
And then there's a part of me that doesn't want to say anything at all. I want to keep my secret. I don't want anyone to know how I feel. I don't want you to know how I feel. I want to be the stoic, the one who never flinches, the rock. I want to be the tough guy, the man. But sometimes its just so hard. I hate it when I have no control over a situation.
So, my rhapsodic saga, once again, takes no form or shape. Nor, do I think, does it make any sense of anything. I guess what this really is -- standing back and looking at it just now -- is kind of like a painting. Just like Water Lillies, you have a sense of what it is, but you can't set a clear definition of it. You either take it at face value as a collection of distorted thoughts and ideas, or you wrap it up in your own meanings and definitions. So that's that.
I hope you understand me.