failed lover

Should we attempt to be literal, instead? Let's forget about reading between the lines, we both know that that's actually a lame excuse for cowardice. My fingers have been sweaty all day from thoughts of you. And here I am wondering if I made up all those calls and SMS? Was I deluded? Or did I make you all up?

My knees weak, my skin numb, my face frozen, my lips tightly sealed and my eyes begging for your attention. Won't you throw me a pregnant glance? Won't you snatch a stare? How many times have you imagined sleeping next to each other? Only to abandon them for its near impossibility. I am but a peg of wood in between two slabs waiting to fall. Please give me a call once you get this, okay? Its not easy sending these long telegraphs especially as the world decided to turn its back on it. I've recieved news from them, soon we can do that getaway we've planned for many years. And oh, please don't forget I don't like chasing after the train so we better get ready early. Maybe we can even manage to shop for some food, wine and flowers for the trip.

kisses

Dear monkey Boy

Perhaps it is because of my profound sadness that I have taken to writing you unsent letters meant to gather dust.

Perhaps I can never be as profoundly articulate as you are my dear wordsmith that I have withdrawn to ignorance.

Perhaps I doubt the desire that spills out of those intermittent nightly visitations that I choose to ignore.

Perhaps maybe I am deeply intrigued by how it feels to hold your eyes for more than twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence. or hold your hand. or kiss your forehead. or be lead by your ears. or even sharing a melting ice cream under this cool February breeze.

Perhaps even, I am distinctively insecure with my ability with words, words and words. Intimidated by my own emotions I withdrawn.

Perhaps I have grown so attached to the image of you that I need to restrain myself even more.

Perhaps I desire you so much more than I think I can. I know this when you occupy the silent spaces of my somber mind, the intimate periods of my weak solitude I am aghast with frustration almost desperate that I can only throw myself to the gnawing temptation of witnessing the secret fantasies of sitting next to you while reading a book.

Perhaps then all this will also be over too. Like the many others who have gone by. Then we can laugh again and share the relief that our desires have finally reached its end.