Someday, maybe

Someday, maybe I'll find the spoken words to tell you how you make me feel. I know you think telling someone you care about them should feel easy, but the reality for me is that it's always been intimidating when my feelings for you come in tides and sometimes I can't help but feel swept under. It's not that I fear the depth of these emotions. What frightens me more is going through the motions of trying to verbalise what took weeks or months for me to say, only for you to nod with appreciation, satisfaction and over time decide that how I feel can never be enough. I completely fathom that's life. Half of the population spill out our insides and are lucky to be met by an equal vulnerability; the other half met by a weight of silence and departure, with our insides hanging heavy. My favourite daydream is to imagine you facing me, telling me about everything you kept hidden on your mind, and me nodding along in adoration because in our quiet space, you know that I hear you; really hear you. I like to imagine you laughing so hard the echos could glue the stars permanently against the night sky. I do not know how to find the vocabulary, without searing my own skin of all the feelings of adoration that evade my brain and cause me to care the way that I do for you. I chose the word adoration, because enjoying every adventure with you only feels fitting of an appropriate noun. I know it's stupid to think you waiting to hear any of these words and that we're probably just two independent bodies thrown into a coincidental household existence. But I hope that knowing how I feel for you will make you see where I stand even when I feel far away from you. I hope you feel my fingers brushing against yours when the moon tiptoes though the clouds and I'm standing, feeling so warm, by your side. Perhaps it's too early to tell you, or perhaps it's so toe-curlingly embarrassing to let you know: but I think I will always wonder about you; how you are and what you're doing. And it's because i care for you, I really do. My insides turn at what feels like the kilometres of distance that stretches out between our talks. I hate how much I still don't know about you, or how much I pretend not to be me. You've held my hand and a bit of my heart. I hope to feel your light always, I don't think i want to picture our home without it.