Today I feel naked and vulnerable and more than ever I wish I had his arms to lie in. I need him to carry me and speak sense into me and tell me I can be exposed before him. Everything feels like I’m on repeat. I’m sure I’ve done this before. Felt this pit in my stomach. Felt this longing. Something doesn’t feel right. Amiss. I search my mind. What. What is this? Is it that I could see myself with him for the rest of my days? That the thought terrifies and exhilarates at the same time. That I would wait for him? Because he’s worth it to me. That everyone else fades from memory in light of him? My past seems faded and smudged. That I would leave all this behind just to be wrapped up in him? Everything I’ve held dear to me pales in comparison to the amazing person he is. And I know this is mostly in my own head. The knowledge of who I really am to him. That I love him and maybe he loves me in his own way, although not in the same respect. Does it really matter who loves who more? I’ll be honest, he’s never given the word that I’m even a viable option for him. But in my wishful thinking, I am. In my wishful thinking he are already standing face to face and he doesn’t care about my scuffed and scarred surface, but sees my heart. Perhaps sees it more than I do. And his arms are open wide and I step into them and he smells amazing and my skin is on fire and I can hear his heart beating in his chest and it’s as if it’s tympanic resonance says: I-love-you-oh-I-love-you. My wishful thinking has us embracing for an eternity as we seek to meld into one whole and all those stumbling blocks don’t actually exist and the years melt away in reverse and we are both starting all over but this time, it’s together. But wait. Haven’t I had this whole vision in my head before? Didn’t I have these same wishes and dreams? I must have because it feels so familiar and I’m absolutely positive that I have written this entire thing down before. And even the second time around, my yearning for him is just as strong and I know I will live in this moment again and again and again. Wishing. Longing. Hoping. Waiting.
©️ tara caribou – 2018
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