The possibility of this happening in my life is terrifyingly exciting. The possibility of you happening into my life scares the skin right off my bones. And the more scared I get the more excited I feel, but it's a cycle. And it must be stopped.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Because I write about things that inspire me, that draw my deepest, most incomplete thoughts out of me. I write about things that need more of an explanation than brain waves of thought and sound waves of speech can describe. I write about things bigger than myself and sometimes, on a rare occasion, I write about things that scare me. But to write about you would mean that I was accepting the fact that you've already become a part of my life that is too big to ignore... a part of my life that makes me think incomplete, confusing thoughts about "what if this happens" that morph into "I hope this happens". And doing that, well, doing that means that I've just completely lost my mind, over you.
So I'm not going to write about you.
Granted, you have many qualities that make you worthy of my illustrious pen skills, but I'm committed to standing my ground. When I write about people, it's usually because they intrigue me so much that I can't help but try and develop their character as though writing a screen play. Your unique, rich, non-conforming character would definitely make for an excellent screenplay lead role.
But I'm not going to write about you.
You know, your smile really makes me want to make you smile again and I hate that, because it makes me want to write about it. It makes me want to write about how very different it is from all the other smiles I know.
But like I said, I'm not going to write about you.
Sometimes I wonder how anyone truly finds me entertaining or funny or even just nice to be around. With all the weird things I do and the amount of times that my hands start flailing around as I'm recounting an extremely embarrassing story to my friends, it's hard to understand why there are friends at all! But there are some people who see me do that and think that that's what makes me, me. Those people even appreciate the fact that I don't try to hide the crazy. Sometimes those people even join me and sometimes they beat me in my own game of "Who Can be Weirder?" Now that I think about it, sometimes you do that...
But I'm NOT going to write about you.
Sometimes I sit and daydream about the perfect life I concocted for myself when I was a little girl. The Olympic gold medal athlete I would be and the white picket fence; the 5 little children I would have all by the age of 20 of course and the prince I would have them with. It makes me laugh a little bit at how differently everything has turned out so far. But I'm really okay with it. Now when I sit and daydream about what's next, I see a degree, and being a voice for the unborn, and building friendships, and you, and...
No, scratch that last one, I said I wasn't going to write about you...
Well I have a predicament now. I'm afraid that if I write anything more, I'm going to start writing about you. And if I do that, well, well we've already gone over what will happen if I go down that road.
What? What's that?
You're saying that I've already written about you?
Just now? And what else?
And that even if I hadn't, I've already lost my mind anyway?!
Well, how dare you make such an accusation!
I made a commitment!
I took a stand!
I made a promise, and you, you...
Oh no.
You're right.
I just wrote about you.
