Intertwined

I didn't mean to make you smile that day.

I didn't mean to think about your smile so much after I saw it the first time and I most certainly didn't mean to see you smile again, and again.

That smile changed everything.

After that I did wish for you to look my way and smile again, so you did. I did wish to hear you laugh and to be the reason of your smile at least once, and I was.

Now I wish I could be the reason you smile every day, I wish I could tell you how I feel and understand what you feel, too.

I want to see the smile you gave me on the very first day again. I wish you'd want the same from me, I wish I could make you happy, but most of all, I wish you could make me happy.

I look at you like you put the stars in the sky, I see centuries of galaxies in your blue eyes and I long for the feeling of your fingertips against my cheek.

I long for the feeling of your silk gentle lips pressed against my forehead.

I long for your affable breath near my ear and your alluring words.

As I look at you from a maddening distance, I can't help but focus on the way your lips curve in a nearly smile, indicating a tic.

I see you smile, I hear you laugh and I listen to you talk, but none of this seems to compensate. None of these matters make up for my desires.

You seem to enjoy the game and I can't complain about it, because I quite like it too. Your sense of humour makes everything about you seem so much better than it already is, and I never knew that was possible.

I keep looking for you in everyone and I find you in the smallest details, I try to let go but you always seem to find a new way back to my mind.

I dreamt of you last night, your hands were holding mine and I couldn't feel anything else but your warmth: Your lips were touching mine and our breaths intertwined tighter than our hands could ever do.

You opened your eyes and stared into mine until the sun came up and the moon went down, and promised to be there at each and every sunrise that will follow, ready to kiss me goodnight at dawn.

But you're not really here. It wasn't real.

I opened my eyes and you weren't here, and I wasn't quite sure if I was there either, so I held on tight to my pillow as the sun came up and I let the warmth of my tears sink into my skin and sheets, still longing for your touch, thinking of your voice and picturing your eyes glaring into mine.

I need you more than I thought and it's killing me to know you don't. I make my way towards your heart and I hope I can reach it one day because you're already building a home in mine and I can only wait for you to move in.

I didn't mean to let you in. I didn't mean to make you smile. But I sure mean to make you stay, I wish I could make you want that too.

I wish your fingertips could touch mine and caress my cheek, I wish your hands could fit in mine as I watch you applaud and try to stop the desire of feeling them on my skin. Your skin on mine.

I stop the thought but I keep my focus on you as I put down my pen and lay down.

I didn't mean to write about you.