2nd of Feb 2019 –
Seat belt, check. Phone, check. Bag, check.
You look at me with those gorgeous eyes. Beautiful symmetrical eyelashes, dimpled smile. I pretend I don’t notice.
You ask as I’m ticking off all the irrelevant things in my head, that I should not be thinking, panicking endlessly as always, I don’t want to, for one second jeopardise any moment with you say or do something that could result in me being a mega turn off.
“Can I have some of that water?” you ask.
Sharing with you makes me feel so happy, I used to be a right germ-a-phobe in primary school. Knowing that drinking from the same bottle as me in the middle of winter season, where you can almost catch a cold just by looking at someone gave me, strange comfort.
Maybe you do like me?
I’m an over thinker, as you can see, whilst the whole time your drinking out of a bottle of water. I’m self criticising everything, literally. From; what the fuck does my scalp look like, I hope my hair looks clean, to; I wonder if my toenails have chipped, I really hope they don’t look gross.
…your probably just admiring the moment after the last few nights you’ve spent watching… well, that’s the thing I don’t even know what you have been doing the last few nights.
I am not allowed to know, it is not something I should be knowing.
But I hope you like me enough to tell me one day.
Thinking this made me feel overwhelmed, sad and lonely.
I just looked at my feet, while you started the car. I then had a wrestling match with my giant puffy yellow coat, it’s warm in here and you make my face red and blotchy. I feel sweaty and exhausted. I feel so much all at once but most of all.
I want to be happy.
I really do.
But the moment always feels too good and I get panic attacks thinking about how long I am supposed to wait to see you again. If I will ever see you again.
You always look at me with a sigh and you always stare right at me like you pulling my soul out and dancing with it along with yours. You look at me as if you have been looking at me for years, but you haven’t. I’ve aged and now my anxiety is a personality trait, not a giggly drunk kid willing to experiment. I am a wreck.
I know that your thinking about all the things you could have done back then but didn’t.
You drive so smoothly then when you finally pull up outside.
Your shoulders seem to lean into me as if you want to kiss me, I worry that a kiss to you is free and meaningless but to me it means so much more. I want it to be, in a journey where I can start feel happier and happier and metaphorically explode with happiness, that you unintentionally fill me up with every time I see you.
But I feel robbed of time and appreciation.
All of what I want, is not what you can give me.
Do you like me?
Feet on floor, check. Hands on door, check. Body present, I’m not so sure.