My chemical romance pt 1

I tell you “Good morning” every dayas if the words are a small doorway into your world.It isn’t a routine. It’s instinct.My mind wakes before my body,and the first thought it reaches for is you.Unashamed. Unfiltered.Almost embarrassing in its purity. Wanting you feels like a quiet fever.Not painful, just persistent. A soft heat behind my thoughts,a pull I can’t explain even to myself. I look out my window the way kids check for rain every few minutes, just in case the sky changes.Just in case it’s you at the gate.Just in case a normal day decides to give me something miraculous. You don’t say you love me.You refuse. Gently. Stubbornly.Like someone trying not to speak a secret they already lost to.I hate it.Not because I need the words,but because silence has a way of making me doubt my own eyes.Your gestures say one thing. Your fear says another.And I can’t tell the difference. I am messy. Restless.A little too intense. A little too available.A little too sure that wanting someone is the same as understanding them.I keep handing you versions of myself I haven’t even figured out yet.Sometimes the confident one. Sometimes the lonely one.Sometimes the version that wants you in ways that live more in my imagination than in reality.You are careful in all the ways I’m not.You pull back when I lean in.Think too long about things I rush into blindly.You hold your heart like something easily damaged.I hold mine like something easily replaced Maybe that’s why we make no sense.Maybe that’s why we make perfect sense. There are days I desire you so plainlyit feels like standing too close to a fire.Your voice, your presence, even the idea of you they tug on me in ways I never admit out loud.Sometimes I catch the faint scent of you lingering in a room,and it twists something deep inside me,pulling me closer to a hunger I can’t name. You awaken a hunger that makes no promises and accepts no boundaries.And yet, somehow, I like the way you hold back.The way you make me meet you halfway, even when you barely move.You have this strange, addictive habit of giving just enough to keep me guessing, but never enough to keep me steady.And I can’t lie something in me enjoys the confusion. The tension.The little games neither of us admits to playing.Like we’re both daring each other to care first.

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