I wonder if you’re all the same.
The same thoughts, the same process, the same cool demeanor. While I sit here wonder, analyze and change everything. I keep asking myself, what I should be doing. Should I be changing, should I be asking different questions, engaging you in what you want to hear? What am I doing here? Should I be pretending to be everyone else, under a veil of vulnerability. If what you say and who you are, are completely different people, then who are we really? First impressions mean everything and yet we can’t help but pretend to be different people, hiding under veils of insecurities.
This feels stupid, this feels silly. This lack of self control is slowly going out of control. I calculate my actions so delicately and watch my words fall like chess pieces on the board. It’s all a game and we are all here for taking. What I want and what you want, and seeing how everything evens out. How strong and cool in demeanor you are and how I can’t help but gravitate to those ways. How mysterious the mystery of people really are. How a person can change how you look at things with out doing much of anything.
I don’t know you. For a brief second, I think I know everything. I don’t. I don’t know anything about you but yet I still want you around. I want to know what darkness harbors underneath your light. All I want is to take apart all your parts and see what makes you tick. It was easier with the other boys. It was easier with the legions of people before. It frustrates me. It frazzles me. How I wish to pick everything apart but it takes the fun out of everything. The fun out of the adventure. The fun out of the story. Giving me just enough to keep me coming back for more. All I want is a sign that this will be something. Something, anything from this over analyzing frustrated feeling. This lack of self control drives me insane and yet I embrace the challenge. This isn’t love, this isn’t like, but it feels like something like it. And I just can’t turn it off.
If they ask they receive. If they listen they will see. I wonder if all boys are the same, or if it’s just some boys. How some boys will sing their blues to anyone that will listen. Or is it just you.
Some boys don’t know how to love.