I think it’s the wanting that hurts us the most.
We pretend to fall victim to a prophecy of unrequited aching,
We place blame on others,
We yell things like betrayal,
But I don’t think that’s what it is.
Unfulfilled promises that loom heavy like a storm that never comes to blow,
I don’t even think it’s the stabs to carefully protected egos,
The times we are so positive something has to work,
and find ourselves stumbling back home,
I think it’s the wanting.
Of needing something in a way you cannot express.
Body over mind.
Mind over heart,
All logic thrown out the door,
Like when I sat alone waiting for you,
how little I must have meant,
when the thought of our reunion burned such a wanting in me.
And all your wanting was gone within minutes,
A wanting of sex and skin.
How I wanted you in a way I hadn’t ever known,
so simple and pure.
When I think back and try to analyze what it all meant,
Maybe this burning was just acid reflux.
I was confusing insomnia with affection.
Maybe we are all just humans
I know so little,
I am willing to admit it.
I was a flawed human
In love with another just as messy,
with a wanting that kept me awake.
I did not count sheep,
but rather moments I wished I was with you.
a blanket of fire I wore around my neck.
You told me I was young
I suppose it’s true.
Everyone is dumb at the tenderness of 22.
You are barely older,
But far more stupid to not see my wanting
had nothing to do with age,
and all to do with you.