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misstree
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i feel the need to ask you something, but don't know what it is i want to ask.
when in doubt, apply excessive amounts of words.
you leave me uncertain. you are deep and true friend, of that there is no question, but somehow it deepens other uncertainties.
to say that i have the recurring urge to kiss you is only partially accurate; i am terribly self-conscious of the state of my teeth, and the resulting unpleasentness in associated taste. but the urge to touch, to draw close, is always near, and always squashed.
"why squash," a part cries, in itself oft-squashed, the part that calls for risks, and is disallowed from the realm of emotions. i watch myself, previously poet, closed down like military complex lest a minor compliment slip, something admitting attachment, and thus possibility of hurt.
from very soon after meeting, i trusted you, and have never been proven a hair wrong to. i now place tilt-a-whirl lean on that trust, and hope it can thrust me out of silence.
and what is it i would say, if this letter were never to reach you? that i would like to kiss you is correct, but unfull. there is a permission sought but unasked, a closeness i am too self-closed to confirm, and allowing it to languish unattended is improper.
to say it as plainly as possible, i cherish you as friend, and while i wish no labels, i feel more for you than i do others who have fairly won the same title. even in naked truth i cannot name that difference, as naming is defining and delineating and it is such uncertain realm, kept tightly reigned as i can, fearing utter unrequited, fearing destruction of friendship.
and that's where the rub lies, in this whole tangle. you are far too cherished of friend for me to risk bond with honesty, but what bond is there without?
kindest action would be to treat this aspect as the puppy it has become, to pat its head and send it away so that i am cleared of this uncertain silliness, can excise and cauterize and refocus. i am not myself, and haven't been for some time, and thus tell myself that i have nothing to offer in the first. but if not myself, then who? i am only what i can be, but nose knows it is not proper, not enough. thus kindness.
and my mp3 player decides to throw its opinoin into the mix, with ella fitzgerald's smoky seeings in "get out of town,"... i end on it, to sleep and sort tomorrow's uncertainties as i can, and hope all happens properly and beautifully.
Get out of town
Before it's too late my love
Get out of town
Be good to me please
Why wish me harm
Why not retire to a farm
And be contented to charm
The birds off the trees
Just disappear
I care for you much too much
And when you're near, close to me dear
We touch too much
The thrill when we meet is so bittersweet
That darling, it's getting me down
So on your mark get set
Get out of town
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070713
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