My heart grows to fonder when we talk.
I crave your conversation, dear friend, but I notice the distance it takes to find you.
I notice the minutes you take to want to speak,
and I find your words when I need you less.
I find you in moments too early to stop, when you notice me as a mirage that begs to difference.
I pause the motions of love I rashly irrationalize to keep you as my dear, friend.
But what I find for you never stops to acknowledge us.
You are so extraordinary to me.
I crave a closeness we will never move, for time goes still but never back:
to the future we know it will stay,
as we are in separate notions of the same few lines we set.
We are settled over the times we tried to bother. Over the times I’ve kept bottled and old.
We have what’s special to find, the rare occurrence of a connected friend.
But I miss you
we keep apart.
This knowledge I know is too young, and the boldness I feel can keep us alone,
if I asked you to.
Come with me through the spontaneous,
come through me to the closeness I want to believe in.
I want to believe you. Though I think you’d let me alone to charge your bothered mind, the mind you mend to mine to keep me severed,
to maintain me from coming close and persistent.
You don’t stop me from recognizing what I want to find, but I want you to stay close enough to know. I want you to come with me:
for “true love is rare to find, but true friendship is rarer still,” and I find you, easily, in the moments I begin to understand amazement and wonder; in the moments when I find myself gleaming and fun to know.
You are lovely to know, and at times I hope far more than we can take.
But, when you’re ready, kid, let us prolong the rarest connection one has to find, the rarest form of love
one can hope
to have defined.
January 21, 2019