if you could at least show me what i want,

that would be enough.


i have an image in my head of quiet conversation
that stretches on for not minutes,
but hours, days, weeks, years,
spanning time while the conversation never loses its
quiet, murmuring, blazing fire.
theres you, next to me, thigh pressed against mine,
and the spark thats growing there isn't a teasing one,
isnt a 'this is only a hint of whats coming next,'
its a 'my thigh is touching yours, i like it,'
and its the most comfortable thing ive ever felt.

its not that you exactly get me, not that you know exactly whats on my mind,
because ive seen enough of this world. i know whats possible, and whats not.
but you understand that we're both trying our hardest
to be something to each other that deserves to be understood.
you breathe honesty, and i breathe it back,
and all the honesty flowing out from both of us is ricocheting in the air,
confused, not used to being out and exposed like this.
but it becomes easier, it flows better. the honesty winds, curls itself
into something much deeper, and warmer.

its not that youre everything that ive ever wanted;
not that ive subconsciously dreamed of you from the second i knew how to dream,
its just that if i had the option
to pick who i dream about every night until the end of time,
you would be it.