Forty : The Words

I didn’t have a good reason to stop writing about you, to be totally and completely honest… I suppose that over time you could assume that it was because we both have come so far over such an amount of time as this, that so many things have happened between then and now. Friends, lovers, me chasing the constant chaos I thrust myself into, you finding stability in your life like a sane person should. That after everything we have both been through in our lives that I wouldn’t write about you because I no longer feel that way anymore.
Lies.
I stopped because I couldn’t anymore. Not that I didn’t want to.
I delete six different half truths before I finally decide I can at least write it all out on paper first. But none of that seems right either.
I stopped because I didn’t really know the words. But that wasn’t the problem. I’ve been working on this for a long time now. Wondering if I’ll ever get a chance to try again only to figure out suddenly that chances don’t come, you make them over time. It’s no secret that I’m a fan of dramatics to get a point across, and that actions speak louder than words. It’s also no secret I’ve been terrible in actions and only versed in words. Meaningless little things. But here they are, still falling out of my hands because my tongue is an idiot.
You’ve said a lot of things recently, things I don’t know how to interpret, especially from you. Crazies complimenting, how I’ve always been around if you’ve needed me. The same can be said about you. I’m horrified I’m reading into these things too much, that feelings I’ve held for you since the day I met you are bubbling back up again, that that flame is going to burn the hell out of me again. Because I’m taking it all the wrong way again. Repeating the mistakes of a me that hardly exists anymore.
“I think you underestimate your importance in my life.”
I think the same thing about you but don’t say it when I should.
I was going to send this to you as an email, like the poem I sent you twelve years ago, the poem I wrote you that still holds true to this day and probably always will. But I want this to be public, that people may read it and know that feelings like these can survive the test of time and the course of events.
You wanted to know when I was going to write about you, well, Lovely Lady, this is yours.
Guppy and I always talk about a time travel scenario : if you could go back in time, knowing what you do now, what would you do differently? I always respond with a simple, carefree “nothing.”
More lies, though not completely. If not for my stumbling, fumbling mistakes I wouldn’t be here, in Las Vegas preparing to embark on the craziest adventure of my life, thinking about you, stitching the words together that may finally say what my actions cannot.
Know that when I tell you I love you its in the deepest, most complicated way a person can care about someone other than themselves and nothing that’s happened over our lives has changed that.
If I were to commandeer that time machine I’d set the date for July 4th, 2001 and do everything exactly the same up until I walked you home; when you leaned in suddenly to kiss me there wouldn’t be the lips of a stunned, confused boy, but the lips of a man who’s loved you his entire life. I’d kiss you like I should have and tell you that I’ll love you forever, no matter what happens to either of us. Like I wanted to at the party when I hugged you and kissed your forehead instead. Knowing that it wasn’t the time. But now the reality of what I’m attempting is sinking in, the dangers no one can really prepare for, the possibility that something -could- happen, no matter how ready or confident I am. So this is for you, to explain absences and regrets, feelings I’ve had buried for ten years, just in case I don’t have a chance to say them later.
Still, after this attempt, I’ve come to the conclusion that there will never be enough words to explain you in my heart and mind; even if there were, there could never be the ink to write them.
Half a year to think about it.
I and Love and You.

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