What’s so secret inside of you.

And still I catch myself trying to figure you out, though the clues are fewer and fewer as the years progress. I know so little about you now compared to just a few years ago; I know so little about how you really feel. We don’t share our lives with each other like we used to; when we used to spend nights just texting back and forth until one of us (you) would fall asleep and then pick up the conversation when we woke the next day. You were my closest friend, even though we had only met once, then twice, then thrice. Even though our friendship was built on me wanting you, wanting so much more than friendship. I’m past that now. Well, I think I am. I’m sure, given the opportunity, I would be instantly caught in your charm again. I’m sure, should the moment arise, I would drop everything on the floor and say yes to you. That’s what scares me about you. That’s why I don’t understand some of the choices you have made. Why you stayed in relationships that seemed to make you ill, because to me you were the most amazing person, and I couldn’t fathom anyone thinking otherwise, so I really believed that you could have the choice of whoever you wanted. But I think I understand you better now. I think I’m starting to figure you out – at last. Now that the clues are trimming down I start to see you in different contexts. Normally I would see you in every romantic movie I watched. Now I see you in the desperate books I read. I saw you so clearly, more clearly than is realistic, when I read A Little Life. Somehow, the problems I’ve had understanding you were made so much clearer; the solutions so obvious when I read that book. I see the trouble you’ve been in, and my failure when trying to deal with it. I wanted to fix you, I so desperately wanted to fix you whenever something was wrong. And only now do I understand that I shouldn’t so much have tried to fix you as just been there for you. And I know it’s not too late to be there for you, but in a way it is. Because I wasn’t back then – I wasn’t when it mattered, when you needed me: when it was me you came to. I don’t know if I was too young, too idealistic, too naïve or maybe just not attentive enough. I don’t know what I could have done differently back then, since I didn’t know then what I know now. But I wish I could have those years back. I wish I could have genuinely been there for you. I want you to know that. I want you to know that, still, a single day doesn’t pass by where I don’t think of you.

The guilty undertaker sighs, the lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns blow into my face with scorn
But it’s not that way, I wasn’t born to lose you

I want you
I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you
(Bob Dylan: I Want You)


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