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.