Finally Accepting

I want to construct my definition out of your smile.
I want to believe in letting you close enough to
touch my heart.
I want to know you're more than what I can see.
More than I can ever figure out.
I want you to be a puzzle. One that I'm okay with leaving unfinished.
Your missing pieces let me know I'm not alone.

I want to sing to you. Horribly and off pitch.
I want to have comfortable silences and
unspoken conversations.
I want to wake up to you snoring.
It'll let me know your still there.
I want you to ask me to play styling assistant,
giving you completely unprofessional and blind reassurance
on outfits
because you know, as well as I do,
you could walk out in boots, a skirt and one earring
and it would still raise my pulse.

I want to stay up watching the Little Mermaid.
And have my morning start with wrapped arms, drool on my chest
and strumming hair over your ear.
I want to give you piggy back rides.
I want to hold hands and skip and laugh at ourselves
because everyone watching is too.
I want to listen to your every word,
surprise you with things you forgot you said,
and spend my thoughts on inventing romantic
scavenger hunts throughout the house.

I want to count your moles.
I want to write love notes in your palms
and my name on your aorta.
I want to be your heart.
I want to act like I'm cool and trip going up the stairs
and try covering it up like you didn't notice.
I want to be tickled.
I used to hate it, it always felt like rape,
but I miss the feeling of laughing because someone else wants to see me giggle.
I want to lose track of time in your eyes.
I want to go on walks and have no destination.

But I've realized that the one thing that I want the most
is for you to be in love.
And I'm not that guy.
As much as I want to be, I'm not.
I wont be.

I want you to have all of this +
199
more creative, intoxicating, Hollywood bubble baths,
giggling, skipping, and piggy back rides *
4000000000 and -
any more heartbreak.
You deserve that security.

As for me,
well...
I'll find a you someday.
But until then,
just remember the invitation for a embarrassing serenade

is still on the table.
My treat.