redux. whatever that means.

I want you to come over and be wooden. I want to lay my head on your chest and feel you breathe. I want my hair to be like it was two months ago, so you can run your fingers through it and sigh. I want to breathe you in and find you still there in the morning.
When I wake up, I want to open my eyes to you watching me. I miss that smile. I miss feeling hopeful.
I love you. It's a small thing. I love you, and it's alright because it's an ache I've missed. You don't know what it does for me, or to me, or because of me. You don't know and probably never will because you could not give me a proper chance.
I am a tiny thing that grows in one's mind. I start out small but manage to expand and spread my roots and shoots through an entire being. You are concrete that is not yet weather-worn enough to crack to accommodate me. I am beauty. You are indifference.

I can hear you playing. I love passion. I love passion that is shared freely and without regard for one's self. I love passion that threatens to burn a person, but they rein it in just in time. Your passion was always subdued. Who would you be if you let go? Who would you be if you let yourself be aware of all the things you know? What if your chosen ignorance and desire for ease of life just fell aside? I am passion. I am romance. I am pain. I am the fire. You feel these things, but are not them. I miss the idea that we could have had these things in common. I thought something would wake in you. Instead it just turned over in its slumber, rubbed its eyes, and immediately fell back to sleep.

I read you too easily.
I thought it was good to be able to know what someone was thinking, what they were feeling, and what they wanted. I thought this was beneficial to me. Instead it just made me lose respect when I would ask them for what I already knew, and they lied. You lied. Constantly.
The tragedy is that you thought you were sparing me. The tragedy is you didn't even know you were doing it.

"I thought you could feel things the way that I do." I think you could if you would open up some of the boxes you've so tightly closed inside of yourself.
I would see you again if you could open up your eyes. I'd see you again if I thought it would mean anything at all. But to you, it won't. You liked to watch my face, but you were making yourself like me. I understand because I did it too for a while.
Knowing you are out there hurts me. I can't explain it. Knowing you are not who you could be is painful. Knowing you hold yourself back enrages me. You could be amazing if you would let yourself lose sight of your comfort.
You could be amazing if you would remember that easy is not the same as best.