It's what you do to me.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Oh, it's what you do to me.

Right now, I'm supposed to be thinking about something else, blogging about something, anything, other than you. I swore I'd never think about you again. I'm beginning to think I'm feeling the same way I did with him for you, but I try not to think about it. I'm sorry if I'm denying it, but you know the things I'm scared of. One of them is you.

You're the heartthrob, the chickboy, the heartbreaker. Pathetic of me to want you to want me, but I do. Everything you do, I can't help but give meaning, to feed on my dreams, to fuel that possibility, that maybe, just maybe; though I know you'll never look at me. In the simple setting, you're the leading man, and I'm nowhere near the picture. Heck, I might not even be an extra in the picture at all.

It gets harder to be around you. I can't treat you fairly, though I try to. I just get all clouded when it's you. I can't believe I'd lose control this way, and for someone, and that someone had to be you. Isn't it sinful to set your affections so much on a human being? I dare not pray for you, to ask you from Him. What would I do if you suddenly become mine? And how would I pull myself together if I hope too much, and break apart?

But the most insane thing about this is that I felt the same way when you were near, and almost never remembered you when you were few and far in between. Now I'm bound to endless consistent days around you. I swear, the maze of your presence has got me lost. Free me. The ringing of your voice deafens me. Shut up. Your thoughts bind me to sleepless nights and senseless daydreams. Go away.

I'm afraid this isn't real, and if it is, how painfully real the penalties can get.

You're arrogant. You're haughty. You can be a jerk, you're the bad boy. You always say the wrong things. Yet still. Still, I'd want to be the girl who'd change you, I want to be the girl who'd miraculously make your heart surrender to me. Still, I know, I'd take you even though you won't change. A disaster: a beautiful disaster at that.

But like you'd see me. Like you'd even think to care. Like you'd even remember me. You, you...I can't find words enough to describe the outrageous worth you've become to mean to me.

But in those magical moments, when my heart starts hoping again, when I start believing in the impossible made-for-tv-ONLY love stories, when our eyes meet and I think I see sense in all this madness, everything changes. It's what you do to me, and you don't even know it.