but even so and even though I've seen you a few times between the time I got here (last Sunday) and now (uh, early Tuesday) the self-sabotaging part of me that waits a few additional superfluous minutes before responding to a text or returning a phone call in order to create a buffer in which memory of contacting me has at least opaqued if not wholly faded so that my response is more of a pleasant surprise than an assurance and not in an unreliable or manipulative way but just in a way that might maybe make you smile like my reply is being sent by carrier pigeon instead of 4G advanced wireless whatever-the-hell
and I don't know what we'll do tomorrow and even though you agreed and even implied that you opened up an otherwise occupied night just to spend it with me before I bail again my stupid brains are still at a point wherein everything that they see/hear/think/do is IMMEDIATELY questioned in order to prevent well I don't really know what I'm trying to prevent and I wonder sometimes if maybe that's just happiness because who on earth knows what that looks like after all
and I thought it'd look like Colorado
and now I think (hope?) it looks like New Mexico
but over these last few days
I wonder if it maybe kinda sorta hypothetically possibly might look more like you
so I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm super pissed at me that I haven't tried to hold your hand or anything because I was looking at it the last time I saw you (and probably failing to be inconspicuous) and it looked so nice on the table as it wrapped around your glass like ivy across old brick
but I get hesitant because I already have roots here and I'd be nervous about trying to plant a seed and I know that there's probably a "that's what she said" in there somewhere but I'm being (mostly) serious and now this agricultural metaphor is played out and dried up like Nebraska summer corn (hey cool I brought it back around)
but seriously you're very pretty and I like seeing you out of the corner of my eye while I pretend to be listening to the person that I'm directly looking at although my brain just keeps demanding to know whether or not you're wanting me to snatch your hand from the table or from your lap or wherever it is and weave fingers together like strands of wicker
so maybe just brace yourself or something.
I'm gonna reply to you now.
so, you know.
get excited for THAT.