I want you.
I crave you.
The thought of you permeates all the passive, dormant musings my brain lulls in its resting state.
You waft into my lazy Sunday dreams. I don’t summon you. You’re just there. My skin embraces your notion like bees to pollen, like its my cell’s job to marinate in the thought of you.
I want you to want me.
Like a little girl begging her dad not to leave, I want you.
I want you like water in a dessert.
But I don’t think you want you.
That’s the problem.
You have to want you before you want me.
I’m asking a flight risk to stay on the ground, and he doesn’t know how to land.
He has to learn to land first.
You can’t build a home if you’re still outside of yourself
In the sky.