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There are times I know what people think of me. I hear claps from an audience after a great performance. I notice looks of disapproval or discomfort when I talk freely of my liberal, homosexual lifestyle. I can see the twitching of my family’s faces when I make a decision despite their pleas for me to do the exact opposite. There are times when emotions are of the upmost outward appearance. There are times when hearts are not just worn on sleeves, but struggle to keep balance on the tip of a shirt, so close to shattering and opening the Pandora’s box of emotion which I seem to draw out of people. There are times that I just know. And then there are times when…. I don’t know.
She makes a fool of my knowledge on a constant basis. My mind loses every bit of sense and information even if I just notice her in passing on the street. I was at her graduation, and like an over-emotional soccer mom, I stood, clapped (even though I was told not to), and let mascara run all over my perfectly powdered cheeks when she plodded across the stage, wearing her writer smile and that smidge of embarrassment which she dons in front of large crowds. I ached to be close enough to see her cheeks turn color when she blushed, as I know she did with the thousands of people staring at the stage. Sensory overload crashed my otherwise logical server, sent information up in flames, cleaned out my mind until only she was left strolling along, letting my waning brain waves crash at her feet.
But see? All these little, physical things I know about her, they all persecute my capacity to think, mock my logic, throw stones at my ideologies and theories and beliefs. I know what they do to me. The only thing I don’t know, and the only thing I wish I knew, is what goes on in her brain when she thinks of me. Her emotions are so far up inside of her sleeves, all protecting her heart, which is buried no doubt in distance, niceties, and “just friends” zones.
It’s sad, really, that the one piece of knowledge I crave is that on which I dwell. I allow this beautiful beast of a person to wreck my fortress of hard-earned facts, figures, places, dates, memories, and whatever else so happens to be so neatly stored inside of my head. So many things learned have swooshed right out my memory because my brain needs all the space it can get to store new, desired knowledge. Knowledge that will prove useless to anyone else other than me.
I realize that allowing such a process to occur is entirely selfish, but I just can’t help it. I love her, desire her, want to know her that much. My emotions have won a long drawn out battle. The logic telling me to reach out and catch my precious bulbs of information has been muzzled and locked away, guarded by The Great Fear of losing her. What’s more, is that what my brain communicates to people changes daily. Some days, I feel honest and safe enough around people who I know care, to open up and just admit to hopeless romance. Other days (and most days), I hold up a wavering sword with logic’s only unwounded hand and give an unconvincing speech about how I’m getting over such emotions, that The Great Fear has changed allegiances. That what I desired most was my precious knowledge. Ah, no such desire exists yet, I know. And they know. But I don’t dare tell the world. I wave that sword until logic collapses yet again, and is forced to surrender to sadness and the unknown.
Truth: I want her. Imperfections, perfections, her mind, her body, all of it.
Myth: I will have the guts to tell her, the willpower to constrain my fear long enough to bear my own emotions on my sleeve and allow my heart to balance on the tip of my fingers until it loses footing and hope that she catches it.
Love is cruel and impatient and jealous and reckless and dangerous.
Love is profound and yet undignified; void of all error and yet messy.
Love is pathetic attempts at selfish behavior disguised as selfless perseverance.
Love is seeing Rebecca and weeping over all that could have been.
Love is oddly charming.
Back In Your Head- by Tegan and Sara