Finally Your's

I have to admit, I love you.

I’ve hardly ever heard your voice, and yet each time I just so happen to see you, my heart has learned to melt at your presence.

Coffee shops, the street, bars late at night, you’re there.

You’re there, eyes narrowly focused on a book. Your coffee is next to your arm, and everytime you lift your hand to flip a page I’m nervous you’re going to spill it everywhere. But you don’t. You’re graceful, smart, everything I wish I was, and these traits I see by just observing a small fraction of your life. 

Again, I see you, walking back to what I hope to be an empty home. The street is busy, but already my brain is trained to find you. Caught up in the world around you, you bump into a stranger. I wish I was him. He trips, but regains his balance, and you fervently apologize, your hand touching his. My face flushes. Before I go over there, I calm myself, realizing how silly I am for pining over a woman I’ve never met. 

The night is in full force, moon high in the sky and I’m invested in conversation with my friends. That is, again, the now-familiar pointed chin and defined brow, eyes always searching for something. I wish I knew what. No, I wish I was whatever you needed, what you wanted to see in that room. Losing my surroundings, I follow you, everywhere you go. As though you’ve cast a spell, my eyes can’t seem to leave you, and I wonder what you’d think if you noticed me. I think if I’m your type, if I’m unbearable to look at, if you’d scoff at just the sight of me. Maybe, just maybe, you’d tolerate a first date, go on a second date for the story, and never confirm a third to break my heart into a million little pieces. Even this dismal scenario I find myself being happy with, pleased with any situation where our little world is just me and you. 

Each time in my mind, I work up the courage to talk to you. I stand up from my bench, sunlight highlighting all of the parts of me I think worthy of you, a nervous smile forced upon my face. My hands are sweaty. People in the park don’t think anything of this, just someone going up to another person. This boosts my confidence. All of this faith in myself falls apart when I finally bathe in your aura, like I’m a disciple seeing Jesus in the flesh. Up close, you look beautiful. Exquisite. Words can’t describe it. I manage to hide the nervousness from my voice, and smoothly I ask, “Do I know you? I feel like I see you all the time.” 

But I can’t. I revert to the strangest of things, asking my friends if they also see you, scouring social media for any sign of your face, anything my simple mind can come up with. Lady luck is not on my side, and remain nameless, a figure that visits me in dreams to calm my lonely heart for a few minutes. But that you isn’t real. I wake up, again forlorn, frustrated, upset that you’re not with me. It’s almost as though the dream you has taken to taunting me, somehow able to watch me after the alarm clock wakes me up instead of your voice. This anger towards you never lasts for long, though. Any anger towards you results in guilt from deep within me, controlling all my actions and thoughts. I’m trapped, addicted to you and never having enough of a supply.

In my mind, there’s a detailed description of every single time I’ve seen you. And how I would’ve greeted you, specifically tailored to each location, time of day, whatever I think would successfully win you over. I know you can take a joke; in the social situations I’ve observed you in, your head is often thrown back in laughter, loud, happy to be experiencing a joy I can only think is euphoric. When talking to you, I’d say something funny, allowing more conversation to flow. You’d be interested. I’d be on cloud nine, about to lose my cool any minute, but I still manage to get your number and depart from you halfheartedly, wishing I could revel in your energy for my entire life. You don’t think much of it at first, but I think the world of such a small interaction.

And writing this down, I finally see clearly how deep my love is for you. I also recognize how terrifying this is, not even knowing you, only familiar with the shape of your face and the melody that is your voice, but I know this is love. This fact is true because I know I’d do anything for you. Naïve this risk may be, but I’d go to the end of the earth for you. I’d sacrifice myself, die on the cross just for you, my silent lover, my secret admiration, my deity. The affection I feel for you is why I must follow this path. My path to you.

Tonight, I stand in front of what I think is your house. If it isn’t, I run. On the chance that I pray it is, I explain everything to you. I beg you not to act irrationally. If you don’t fall in love with me, I find out why you’re everywhere in my life, and maybe move on. Or, I could continue with this little charade for a bit longer, convinced one day you’ll be entirely mine, no one else’s, and not even death will separate us. 

The cold air hurts my face. Your home is moderately sized, but worthy of admiration, making me think that you fit it perfectly. My sneakers scrape against the asphalt. I cringe at the noise, despite knowing no one can hear me, but my anxiety is paralyzing. Breathing in slowly, my feet move again, towards you. You’re so close to being mine, I can taste you. I feel almost animal-like, hungering for you, needing you, desiring you. I stumble towards the open window, peering into the dark house, and all of my thoughts go silent.

No matter what way this goes, I know one thing: finally, the enigma that is you shall finally leave me be, and I can embrace who you really are wholly.