I'll be wearing your tattoo.
I was minding my own mind, simply putting sheets back, and pillows away, recreating my bed, the way it was before. Pieces of conversations I had today came back, things said to different people, I remembered I cannot wait for you.
I don't know what to do with these unrequited feelings, I don't know who to give them to, or if I should shelve them with the rest of my well made plans. They're near to worthless, maybe worth little more than a peso, with inflation, they can't even purchase words, let alone a return sentiment.
I'm left ultimately happy, with a bad taste in my mouth. An inappropriate gift, with the thought that counts.
I don't tell you I love you any more, I think it causes too much strife, for both of us. I can't wait for you, but how can I carry on with someone new? How could I justify dating someone if my heart just isn't in it?
I would only be going through the motions to prove a point, the point being that I could, that someone else could find me desirable, that someone else could fall asleep thinking of my lips.
I have more questions than answers.
I have no gray. I have no gray. I have no gray.
This is me, this is black and white, and if you were to ever love me more than this, you need to know this doesn't change. The lines that cannot change do not change, and I'm not 18 any more. Many men have wished for the in between state that never, ever exists with me. You may have all of me, but you may not keep the pieces you like and toss the rest away.
Take these lessons away with you, lessons you've already been taught by women with less heart than me.
I'm not struggling to find my identity, I'm not wishing and washing between the various people I am, they exist and I know them all by name. All I have to show for these 26 years is myself, for that I am not ashamed.
My apologies for not being less that concrete. You'll always know where I stand. Right here.
. . .
A half an hour recounted, and something happened today.
I believe my grandmother fell in love with your voice.