My Sweet

Talk to me sweet like you do when I am about to go to sleep. Take me deep into your loving arms and make me whole. I searched long, hard and wide for what I was looking for. Making a route to inhabit the entirety of your heart. I would have captivated you if you had let me. The name by which you call me, I hear. In my dreams; in my heart. I have a way of knowing you are always there, and never turning your back on me. I gave into sleep this time. Thinking that one more ounce of rest would give me every bit of strength I needed to tell you what you mean to me. What you have done for me. How you have cared for me. What you have said about me. How you feel about me. How I feel about you. Thinking in a later sense that I would be quaintly unable to tell you how you feel about me without first seeing what I mean to you through my eyes. Seeing it through my heart. I want you to know everything about me. The way I feel when I am sad. Why so sad? Because you have not been here my whole life to envelop me. And I have been anxiously waiting for you to wrap me in every ounce of love that I deserve. What you deserve. What we deserve.

It was something about your left hand wrapping around my waist that had me thinking in fairytale words. I felt butterflies. Words of dreams. Had I known any better the dream would have been the realest thing that I had ever seen in my life. Knowing that what I see in the subconscious is your hand on my cheek. Your face against mine. Your nook. Your smell. I could find myself reading my poetry to you while you shave in the morning. Is that weird? That I would sooner dream of something like that before I dreamed of taking advantage of you for what you look like? I would sing for you. Would sing with you.

I am a heart that forgives itself over and over again. I had made mistakes by this time in my life that I had to retreat and manage. Knowing my plights were not yours; I had to separate myself from how other people would want me to feel about you. And there wasn’t a loss. Because my heart is always open to the idea of you. I said to myself,

“What is it that you wish more than anything?”

“A chance.”

A chance at something I have never had. Imagining to myself that I had just met you; and I felt a way I had never felt about anyone else. There was something magnetic about you. My heart got so used to seeing you smile. My soul got so used to hearing you breathe. My life got so used to having you in it. And where did you go? Why did you go? But what do I know?

I don’t know how to keep a man

At least that’s what I think. As you removed your arm from my waist, I began to think about how you would be so satisfied with dreaming about a love that has never been yours. Someone you have never been on a date with. Someone that makes even the worst of days look and seem brighter.

I am happy to have met you. Happy to have gauged my feelings about who you are as a person well within the constraints of respect. Honor. Valor. I imagined myself tackling the very parts of you that you wanted me to captivate. Your heart. Telling me that I should have more regard for mine. More regard for myself. More feeling for a love of my own.

I wanted to dance in front of you. Show you a few dips. Throw on some music and imagine I was in a poodle skirt. I was so sure of myself at that time. I was so sure that I could still be thankful for my imagination even if none of it comes true. And if nothing comes of this, just know; this was always the way I really felt about you.