i'm in the quicksand

when you turn to me, i'm in the quicksand. you moved into my mind again.

losing sleep

i'm haunted by you, you. fall asleep and dream of you, you. late at night i scream for you, you. waiting on a deja-vu. in my mind. getting older. where did all this time go? losing focus. losing direction. losing motivation.

And I don't have the heart that you think I do And you give me so much, it's too much to lose.

I want: to create beautiful things. to laugh. to have someone listen, really listen. to have someone to share it all with. to analyze. to be more confident. to not care about what they think.

"...and, I've just come to realize that, we're only here briefly. And while I'm here, I wanna allow myself joy. So fuck it."

2015

...but what of love?

3 years ago

He left a bit early. The end of the day was near, and the office holiday party was upon us. I felt sheepish as I looked around and wondered if anyone else didn't bring a guest. After a brief walk and uninteresting arrival, my coat was securely hung up, my bag: protected. I took a deep breath and summoned the part of my personality that was ready for cheery, interesting small talk while internally all I could think was "What was ____'s boy/girlfriend's name again?" She already had a glass of champagne, and was sipping it lightly while laughing at one of his jokes. He had put on a suit jacket since he left, and I allowed myself approximately a half second to admire how much more handsome he looked than normal. She looked small and refined in her red dress, hem line at the knees which was modest, but the chest was cut low. I had seen her in what felt like a million pictures, but had never actually met her. They went to school together, and she worked nearby. She had a refined toughness to her. The beautiful slight wave to her brunette hair was no accident, and she carried herself and her clutch with grace. I circled the room, talking to anyone but them. Instead of nervously hovering around the room, they stayed in one place, as if reinforcing their powerful image in my mind. One of my best friends, Diana, also went to school with them, and she had brought her boyfriend, and the 4 of them had been lightly chatting. Next thing I know, I am talking with the four of them, meeting Diana's boyfriend, and making introductory conversation while the pair was to my left, across a thin marble topped table. What if I reached over gently, calmly, and took his hand, and he took mine, and everyone else in the room faded? "Milwaukee is where I'm at right now" said the boyfriend. We were chatting about the midwest when the roommate and I made eye contact. I took the opportunity to introduce myself and shake her hand. She gave a polite "Nice to meet you" as I watched her reaction with precision. Because I knew that if she recognized me, or even repeated my name in a slightly knowing way, that would be confirmation. It would have been confirmation that my existence in his world existed outside of the confines of work. It would mean that I was talked about, maybe liked, perhaps even pined over, as I had been pining for him. It would give me hope. Hope that I wasn't reading everything wrong. Could it even be possible that my strong, silent, secret admiration was mutual? Instead, a polite, indifferent "Nice to meet you."