but I'll hold you tight

even if you don't want me to

but I saw you the other day, as I always do, and you were the usual you. always quiet, always there. and I wonder what it is that makes me miss you the more that I see you—even if we haven't spoken that of a word to each other. and I wonder, too, what it is that makes you seem so intangible and so far away even though you're right there and I can grasp for you and maybe offer a smile or two. I wonder, also, what it is that makes you so hard to get. and I wonder if you looked at me that other day when you turned around to see behind you. I saw your eyes, oh gawd, how they twinkled. I never noticed before—or is it me who imagined the stars in your orbs, the smile with that little zest that makes your smile mean more than you think? is it just me who caught your eye and saw your dark eyes stare back? and I was scared, oh gawd, I was scared because I wanted to know what you were thinking. but special powers and reading minds have never been my thing—and anyway, I've never been good at so much as to smiling when I catch someone's eye. darling, I wonder if you see me too when we catch eyes—I wonder if your heart drops because, darling, I know mine do and maybe that's why I never manage to smile—but I would've been to scared anyway to see if you would smile back because even though I know you're a sweetheart—I don't want my heart to be jabbed at when you turn away—because then will I only know that you don't want to attain my heart as much as I want to attain yours. as much as guessing scratches at my heart—I think it's better than to know that I'll never guess your feelings ever again—because as much as I don't want to stand in corners and clench my jaws—wishing I could smile and be in sync with you—I want to be able to look at you and be able to admire the way your face lights up when you smile—the way you have to lean down to listen to others talk because you're tall for someone like you—and I like the way you always seem to wring your hands together when you're quiet and you always stare at your hands and fingers like you're thinking too hard about something. I adore the way you always are so silent, as if whatever's on your mind is the most important thing ever—but is it just my imagination—because I seem to be imagining more than I've ever had. am I crazy for noticing these things? I must be, darling, I must be because these days---I seem so messed up that it's always me. and I think I've found something that makes me happy because I hope you know that your smile makes my day and your face makes my mornings go by faster and that when you seem to catch my eye, I can feel bliss and happiness taint my pained bones and it makes it all the better.

but I saw you today, as I always do, and you were the usual you. always quiet, always there. and my hands were cold and that reminds me of you because if only you could hold my hands to make them glow with a warmth that I never had.

and I'll hold you tight, even if you don't want me to.