You are pressing your acoustic guitar to your heart. And I wonder what it would be like to mold my own body around yours like that. I wonder what it would be like to feel your chest rising and falling with my back pressed against it— to hear your breathing in sync with mine.
You are plucking the thin strings of your guitar, letting melodies flow in the tiny spaces of this crowded classroom. And I wonder what it would be like to have all my hollowed spaces filled with the beauty of your music. I wonder if it’s possible to stay in tune with every strum of your guitar and know that even when the note gets impossibly out of track, it’s okay. That you’ll still be here— patiently waiting for me to get it right. I wonder if it’s possible to love someone who can tune you— put you back on track again.
You are dragging sheets over sheets of tissue along the curves and between the narrow edges of your guitar— paying attention to every detail, aware of its every imperfection and flaw. And I wonder if you are also capable of tucking all my insecurities to sleep. I wonder if you wouldn’t mind a rough hand to grab or a pudgy waist to hold. An insane mind to put up with or the raging woman in me to tame.
I watch you love music like this— mildly yet so passionately. And I wonder if you could also ever love me like this— with a feather-like touch yet with the same burning passion of a storm.
I constantly wonder what it’s like to be loved by you. To be the one you press your heart to. To be the one whose hollowed gaps are filled in with your wondrous music. To be the one whose insecurities and flaws are the ones you pay attention to.
I wonder and wonder when I’ll ever be...or if I’ll ever be.