Spitting Games

eff this. i'm posting it. (august 9, 2008)
note the nu-loving. fantastic, j-mac.

somewhere between all our laughs, long talks, stupid little fights, and all our jokes,
i fell in love


It's funny that, as everything changes, a part of me is yearning for some aspects to just... stay.

I'm Northwestern-bound in the fall. I never quite vocalized that entirely. I'm actually rather thrilled regarding it. I'm enrolling in Medill, the most prestigious j-school in the country, and I'm finally finding myself content in my decision. I'm getting by with a little help from my friends, and the words of wisdom, consolation, and convincing from J-Mac and Plum Cake are helping more than I can convey in this pithy excuse for reality written at six to four on a Sunday morning.

I'm waiting patiently for your name to flash, for the alert that you're thinking of me.

It's happened every other night, but, somehow, I know tonight things will change.

I love that look that you give me. It's petty, but I know somehow it's just for me. And the way that sometimes you press your forehead against mine. The way our legs or elbows or knees touch, mine trembling and yours sturdy, stable, you never flinching. I love how you smile at me, that toothy grin, your right eye squeezed tighter than the left. I love your phone calls, our late nights, the fact that, through it all, you're thinking of me.

Little ol' me.

I fell in love with you over buzzer systems and drag and lipsticked kisses. I gave you my heart amidst strawberry milkshakes and Baseball Tonight, and I lost myself in your eyes of blue (I could barely take my mind off you).

Three AM curiosities, insistences on Malcolm and Wonder Showzen.

Do you know how special you are? To me, at least?
The way you make my heart pitter-patter faster and slower all at once?

You're what I want to change. The only thing. And, it's not even you, persay, but our situation, our circumstances; I want things to "be different," like they would be. I want time to stop so I can have even mere moments of your consciousness. Because I love the way I love you.

I am in love with swirls and colors and the inability to speak.
When you are around.

I am in love with your emotional roadtrip.
And I am in love with mine.

Pick me, choose me, love me.
I said I couldn't say it.
But I just did.

Please let it mean something.