a week has past and no word from you.
i'm killing myself, dying, the possibility of you happening to think about me.
thinking about whether you're losing interest or i'm not what you thought or wanted me to be.
i'm invested in your thoughts, your style, your movement, and your taste.
i want to know more but are you going to allow it?
i initiated physical contact with you and you accepted it.
you asked before continuing.
did i move too fast?
i don't want to know the bad.
i'm afraid to be rejected again and again.
i'm slipping into default dismissal of true connection.
dismissing it all as a hidden scary agenda for sexual advances.
untrue and unsafe thoughts.
i'm slipping away.
i don't want to keep pushing on something that is not there.
i still get aroused thinking of how you felt when i touched you and kissed you.
touching and brushing your hair.
all those gentle hand-holding moments.
being in your car, every single thing.
you may be the distraction.
distraction for these beginning months or inspiration, fuel for creative content,
for every little minute i'm not thinking about you or hearing from you.
02-2015
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