What Do You/I Want From Me/You?

The same thing.

Wait — no. Contrast. Feel it?

Does merely asking this cast irrevocable doubt upon our special and unspoken harmony?

Best proceed, the bell now rung.

Do you want what I cannot offer? Biding for the day I can?

Or, do you want what I want? Which is, apparently, very little, beyond our wellbeing in this moment. Want has become autophagous, for me.

“Very little”

Do you hold these words similarly?

“Very little”

Am I the one biding — for the day you cherish this as I do? Am I guilty of believing it already so, when it is not?

When want is quiet, everything is fine.

Perhaps want stirs here, after all.

Perhaps it stirs in both of us, concealed, for different irreconcilable reasons — and this is the great dilemma of humanity: perpetual temptation to believe we have ourselves and others understood.

Is magnetism between “us” simply you wanting X, and me wanting Y, and “us” failing to spot the difference, until now?

What motivates “us” to be “us” — can we ever know? Should we spend another moment wondering? Is it possible this inquiry corrodes the very thing it attempts to understand?

Does “us” continue for several chapters?

Is this the end of Act I?

Is this the end, entirely?

Hold it all lightly. Never *need* to obtain something from someone. Compassion. These feel like the stars to navigate by.

These things considered, I suspect time will smile on us.

Loving friendship.


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