You were talking to someone else today, and so was I - another week already fading into the distance.
I wish I'd been talking to you instead; maybe you wished the same thing.
You always seem unsure of yourself, but I think your mind is brilliant, and I wish you knew it. I daresay you deserve someone more on your level than he is.
If you liked, we could lie together talking about literature for days, tasting it on our lips like honey.
"Every life is in many days, day after day." The next time I walk through myself, I'll avoid running into the robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love --
all of which is to say, I'll try to meet you, because I'm tired of walking away with nobody but myself for company.
I'm only here because I can't puzzle you out. If you want me, show me; give me some small sign.
If you don't, stop sending me those glances, those smiles, those laughs -- the ones that splinter me into tachycardia, that light in me the mysterious flame that keeps me coming back.
I think something in you conjures up those glances purposely, something in you wants to, but something else holds you back.
This would disrupt everything in my easy little life, but I'm willing to leap if you are.
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