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Perhaps I can never be as profoundly articulate as you are my dear wordsmith that I have withdrawn to ignorance.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 Intimidated by my own emotions I withdrawn.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