I’d love to walk with you. I think walking is surprisingly relaxing, and then, I can be myself while talking to you. I won’t mumble and eat my words. I would respond actively. And maybe, then, you can appreciate how badly I want to just spend time with you.
I’d love to cook you dinner. Or lunch. Or maybe even breakfast. I’ll put all my efforts in making you the best meal I can, even if it’ll taste bad because I’m trying too hard to make it perfect. I’ll get clumsy in my ever familiar kitchen because I’ll get excited and disoriented at the same time. And maybe, then, you will realize how special I wanted to treat you.
I’d love to hold your hand. I mean, just touching you feels weird. Good weird, really. I couldn’t fathom how much of a good feeling it is. If only I could touch you everywhere until my hands have memorized every feel of your skin. Even then, I wouldn’t be satisfied. I’ll just crave more of you. And maybe, then, you’ll realize how you fill something in me.
I’d love to hear you sing. If you think you’re a bad singer, it’s alright. I can’t really sing, too. It’s just a silly thing for me to imagine you, singing songs, and feeling the song as if it’s your own. And how comforting it is to know that you couldn’t care less of what I think about you in monotone or high notes. And maybe, then, you’ll know that every ballad you performed, I hoped it was for me.
I’d love to catch you staring at me. It makes my heart smile knowing that whether you are intrigued of my emotionless face, or you’re just staring at my zit, you notice me. And if that didn’t make me happy, it’s like asking too much from you. And maybe, then, the next time you see me, you’ll look at me differently.
I’d love to know your routines. I want to be a part of it. I want to be like, brushing your teeth every morning, of every day, for the rest of your life. Or even your afternoon snack that you need, to get you through the final hours of your shift at work. Or even just your evening shower, just before you go to bed, that eases all the tiredness in your body and relaxes you for a peaceful sleep. And maybe, then, you’ll know how badly I want you to remember me and get me through my days, too.
I’d love to know your lies. There’s something twisted about sharing a lie with someone. It’s like carrying a part of you that only both of us understood because I know the story behind it. And knowing them means you didn’t have to lie to me at all. And maybe, then, I could show you all my scars from every lie I’ve told, and never hide from you again.
I’d love to know your flaws. Your insecurities are not you. I want to be the reminder that whatever you are, there will always be somebody who will understand if you don’t feel 100% at times and there will be moments that you just want to be alone. But I will be here, and I will not disappear. And maybe, then, you’ll be aware that I cannot be brushed off easily, and I don’t mean any harm to your heart.
So, please, introduce yourself to me.