Wednesday Morning

You know what?

I hated you. How you look at my eyes, without having the need to tell me because I already know. You look at me and I feel, and I see beyond, and I feel more. When you look away, I imagine myself towards that direction. And give in. 

I didn’t like that. How you hold my hands. It gives me truth, it sheds light. Your rough hands on my long fingers. Its warmth like your hands around me, like your breath running across my hair. It reaffirms me that you know, and that you feel. I didn’t need that.

I hated you. How the timbre of your voice becomes the alarm to my slow life. And when you speak I wake up, and when you stop talking, I try to stay up. I hate it when you whisper because it is too loud. But I open my ears anyway, and if I can open it further, I would. If it were in speakers, I blast fully and wait till my ears bled. And listen some more.

But you know what?

I’d still look at you, and touch you, and listen to you. Because they are real. But i hope that you know that.

Because you know what?

I know that you don’t know that.

Because everytime you look at me, I look away. And imagine you in that direction. To look at you that way I want to. And because everytime you hold my hands, I pull away, and cherich the brief moment of your warm touch. I long for more, but I cannot long anymore. Because everytime you talk, I pretend not to hear, but to sink in the clouds of your words. It’s what I want, what I scream for. Louder than the speakers for your voice.

And you don’t know that.