It's alright if you don't love me. It's ok if you don't think you'll ever be able love me. But, do you like me? Because though I can relish the smiles, the little joys, the meant-just-for-me jokes, I don't think I could walk away whole if it was all a farce. So, make sure to tell me you like me. I deserve that much.

For me, though, I love when you look at me unabashedly, like the heavily draped curtain over your guarded thoughts has been lifted for the short soliloquy delivered just for me. When your eyes take me in. When the look of fierce independence that typically shrouds your face is temporarily gone, almost as if you don't realize you're letting me in.

Do you know when I let you in? Do you know when I'm telling you something I don't tell anyone else? Do you know how much I'm holding back from falling into you? Do you know how much I want to let go, but can't unless you let me? Do you know how worried I am that I am letting go, without realizing it, without telling you? But maybe you do know - you're very perceptive.

Do you know how much I think that you're going to tell me that it's just not worth it for you, that I just wasn't good enough, didn't capture you enough, that you're moving on.

Why do you like me now? Amidst all the sarcasm, what do you really mean? What do you intend for me to come away thinking? How do I reconcile your hypothetical answers to hypothetical questions with reality? Do you get the meanings I want you to from my barbed sarcasm?

When am I ever going to be ok relying on someone else? Not feeling like I'm intruding? Please understand how much I care, and don't make me regret it. Please accept the consequences to my heart of your words and actions. Please be gentle. I need you to tell me when your absence means something. I need you to understand how I need your words every so often to reassure me that you care. I need you to tell me that it's ok to expect some things, that I'm not out of line.

Because there's nothing like your arms around me.

We can lie here and talk for hours in my bed
Secondhand Serenade

When you're not here, I feel a little less full. I little less serene. A little worried that I know what's happening when it's not supposed to, not yet. I'm supposed to control it happening, and I can't.

Fists and fingers, tongues and teeth.
I want to see you, I'm tired of my dreams;
nights of wishing, I could open my mouth
and when I finally did speak, you were nowhere to be found.
...
Did I scare you off, by being honest?
how come we never see the end, 'til it's right there upon us?
Dog's Eye View