THE PLEASURE OF READING

I cannot remember when I started to enjoy reading. To read for the sheer pleasure of living in that well woven story and beyond. I cannot...

29 April 2015

I just want to talk sometimes. I want to open up, to bring down the shields I've put up to guard my heart and let you see me. Though I'm not sure what you will see when you look inside me.

I think that maybe this should be enough. Whatever this is. It's comforting to know that someone has a place in his heart for me. That should be enough. So why isn't it? Well maybe I never learnt to be content with half a loaf. I always want it all.

What was this about? Oh yeah, opening up. Where to start? The line. Where do we draw the line. There's always a line, a boundary that shouldn't be crossed. I wanna know whether we are friends. I want us to be.

Some evenings I need a hug to ease the tension of a strenuous day. My teddy bear used to suffice, but since you came back into my life, only you fill that void.

I sometimes hold my phone wondering whether to call or text. Call? No. I won't know what to say when you pick up. So text? No. I can't just burst in when you are trying to move on and say something silly. So instead I open my note pad and type away. Words I want you to read. But when I read them I feel bare, exposed. These are words I know I should chew up.

I often stay up late or startle awake in the middle of the night just to listen to the murmur of my own thoughts. And see my heart seeking out a deep corner to tuck away these feelings.
I wonder whether you think of me. I hope you often remember to miss me.

I want to listen to you unguarded. When you are too carefree to sort out your thoughts. I want be the reason you take a few extra minutes to dress up every morning. I want you to reach out to me even when you have nothing to say. And I want to know what you want. Mostly, I want you to want me more than you can ever have me.