You kissed me yesterday. And I don't think you saw it, because it was dark in your kitchen, but I smiled. And when you had your hand on my neck, when you gracefully and sweetly pulled me closer, I felt like the star in a movie. It took a long time to build that wall of sarcasm and ice around my heart, and in that moment I felt droplets hitting my stomach and turning into butterflies as you melted it all away.
But I think I built my walls too high; I got too good at keeping people away, at keeping you away. Because as I walked home, I felt sad. I knew I liked you, and I knew I'd done too good of a job at keeping you at arm's distance. So you either think I'm a bitch, or too complicated, or just a nutcase, all of which are probably true in their own right. But I know I did it, and I regret it do much right now.
You're too smart for me anyway. Not book smart, though you are. You're perceptive. You remember everything, and that's intimidating. Most women would kill to have a man remember her birthday, or some random fact mentioned ONCE and never again. Not only that, but you're perceptive too. You know things about me that I never told you, and as far as I can tell, never revealed to you. It's an amazing and beautiful trait, but it's unsettling to have somebody know more about you than you thought.
But I wish I hadn't fought you so much. I wish I'd taken half a step forward, or just reached out and grabbed your hands, pulled you forward. Given more, been less stubborn, chiseled a door for you in my heart of ice, or at least a ladder. You're smart- you knew I was fighting, and you respect me, so you're not going to fight back.
I wish you would.
In a room full of windows, you saw through all my bullshit and you saw me. You looked me right in the eye, you caught my gaze, and you held it. I didn't look away. My eyes say more than my voice ever will. I hope you heard them.
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