February 11, 2012
No One Gets Me Like You
It's the way you curse that doesn't offend me like it should, and that perfect hair that makes me love you. You are true, and your voice has that hint of rasp that forces me to look when I hear. You take disappointment well, or at least that's what you show on the outside. You are free; you are talented.
You are intricate and beautiful. You are soft, but utterly strong. You love, really love.
I read your written words, the words that can't ever be out-written, and that wit? If I held even a corner of the wit you do, it would be placed right HERE on display.
People don't know you. No, they know you, but they don't know you. I don't know you, but I've noticed that you hide behind that blonde hair.
You are smart, but you don't try. I've been told you're too honest, and that you always tell the truth, but hey, I like that about you.
I like you, and I liked you before I knew you.
You try too hard. You feel like you have to erase the bad reputation that you've built upon yourself, but part of you wants to live up to it. I don't get you.
You told me that you write poetry that you don't let anyone read. You radiate confidence, but I know that part of you is afraid, and it bothers me more than it should that you are afraid of feeling. You are weak, not in a negative way, but in a way that is covered by your strength; it shows that you're real.
Everyone warns of your potential madness. It hasn't surfaced and crushed me yet. You are considerate when someone new is around.
You are stunning, so stunning. You know all the pieces of who I am becoming and that's okay with you. You are becoming someone incredible, too. If you aren't at my hip I feel lost, and you know what? I love that. You've wrapped me up and tied me like a knot in your life. You're loud, and you're cute, and you know so much more than most. You feel things beneath the line that most people feel things; deeper. You know what you want, and you will get it. Thank you, love, thank you.
I miss you, and I hope that you miss me, too, but if I don't see you again, I'll know what to look for. You're pure, and you work like most people don't. You hold tightly, and comfortably, and I know that you pray.
That silence that I hear? That's you.
And you don't care that I'm not perfectly pretty, or that I never say the right amount of words.
But, I love you.