In different places and different times of the day, if the sun is high or the moon outshines it, in those times does my honesty come through better or worse. At 3 A.M. it often seems most absolute. Maybe it’s that feeling that tomorrow would never come if I sat here long enough. That feeling I’ve found deep enough in the night that makes me forget the sun for long enough to give words that I’d convince myself, at least for the moment, you will never see, at least not today – or tomorrow.
So I’ll tell you how I see the world at 3 A.M. I’ll tell you how I see you – how you give me a feeling I haven’t remembered only for small moments. It’s an old feeling my young self knew and had forgotten and buried and now it comes back and I gave it the thought: isn’t it dangerous to want to be with someone, all of the time? To want to hear their voice no matter what it’s saying. I don’t care what words – just that you’ve made them.
And I’ll tell you bordering that feeling impatiently is what I’ve lived with for years. Myself. My mom and my sister ask all the time if I’m going to date you and sometimes I tell them of course, sometimes I tell them who knows what life’s gonna do, sometimes I tell them I just want to be on my own. And I don’t only consult them – I talk to you too. And I wonder when I hear your voice would you strain if I said I wanted to be with you, would you strain if I told you I didn’t? Would you be safe knowing I want to be your friend until 3 A.M. passes? Would you need more? Where does the strength of your free reason end before the lonesome feeling in your heart?
Along it all I wonder still why me. I wonder what has happened lately to me that’s made me gleam. I wonder why what felt before like a distant world has come to my feet. And I wonder amongst it all why you love me as you do? What in myself I see as good I’ve kept secret – does it seep? – do you see something I don’t? Tall enough and handsome and occasionally funny and uncommon and impassioned but what does that mean? Am I gentle? Do you come from a rough world and the calluses on my hands are first missed?
It would be the 22nd and we’d wake up next to each other and Quinn too a bed away. How much time would you give us before we’d be swept up in the day? Would you move the shade with the tips of your toes to let in the sun while I dove deeper into your chest to hide it from my eyes? Would you let me lay on top of you and fall asleep for another hour? The hours would come and go and us with them would find ourselves cooking and laughing and off to something here or there and I don’t think I’d notice a minute of anything beyond you. At night we’d collapse and laugh and play and rest and feel eachother’s warmth and whisper what we’d want to shout until we’d be dreaming and it would be the 23rd.