My liquids and gifts have no meaning for you. You barely touched them today.
I did everything. Tried all tactics. Even used ruse to make you stay.
You smiled at me, but pushed me away.
You held my hand, yet looked away.
Double signals? Doubt? Uncertainty?
Remorse? Regret? Fear?
My smug remarks make you chuckle in that cute way that exposes your neck.
Yet, I know that as much as you enjoy the chat, you want to leave. Your hands beg.
You didn’t stay up to thirty minutes.
Subtly ran, as though I were a human sized pilus.
As I write this, I finish your leftover chocolate.
The one I got for you. A race that had me return your call late.
As I write this, I finish your red wine.
The one I got for you. I strangely feel sad for that wasted grape vine.
I have told you my truth. I have been as honest as I could be.
If my openness is not acceptable by society, let it be.
Let it be that I told my truth. Let it be that I carried my heart on my sleeve.
Let it be that way, because no one knows when I’d have to leave.
I know these are hard times. Given our history.
I know my words lack substance, given my urgency.
To your doubts, and worries. I have one question:
How long does it take for you to realize that the length of a human life is never enough to love fully?
If I can have a single minute of love- a moment of mutual respect and cordial happiness. A relationship based on more than kisses and things done in the dark. Based on friendship, respect and truth.
If I can have one shot at making you smile every day because it is what brings me the most joy.
If I can have one shot at making you see you the way I see you.
If I can look into those brown eyes and articulate the truth in my veins…
I’d better take the shot and fail, than live never having tried.
You know that when I say: “I like you”. I really mean “I Love you”.
You also know that there are no other ways of saying it.
Give me my shot, let me show you.
Or tell me no, and let me go.
Either way, you own me.
(Or rather, painfully so)