Bewilderness

You confuse me. I'm supposed to love you. My heals should be above my head, because you make me smile and make me laugh and stutter. You make me nervous, and I'm supposed to love you. But I can't. I simply can't. And I can come up with reasons like how you're too immature, or you'd be a horrible partner, but that shouldn't stop me from loving you. I'm the reason I don't love you. And that's all there is to it. 

You confuse me.  I look into your eyes and I swear. I swear that if it's possible to be possessed by the devil, then there's an angel in your soul. There's a saint inside of you, and I swear it quiets the demon inside of me . And you're too good for me. You're brilliant and kind. And I can't quite comprehend how I deserve you. Maybe I don't.

You confuse me. You are me and I am you. And we lay on the bathroom floor together, because there's birds, and old men, and Ku Klux Klan members painted in the stucco. And they're all looking right at you. Those men who painted the ceiling must have known. They must have known that we'd curl up in the fetal position, with nothing to do but fantasize about fictional characters with upside down lives.

You confuse me. I'm supposed to be a moody teenager, right? and I know that if your read this blog I probably sound like one, but I'm really not. I'm generally happy. But sometimes I feel like I'm supposed to hate my life, and my mom, and school. And I'm supposed to use the phrases "You're ruining my life!" and "Get out of my room!" on a frequent basis. But no one is ruining my life, and if you'd like to visit my room, you're welcome. 

You confuse me. You kiss boys who aren't too good looking. You love me more, but you seem to have forgotten.

You confuse me. We've taken completely different paths since that day last February, and yet there is no one in the entire world who makes me feel the way you do. Romance has nothing to do with us. It has nothing to do with how late we stay up on the phone and the way we can be completely honest with each other. It has nothing to do with the person I am with you versus who I am when you're gone, though I'm still not sure which one is me. What we have? It's love without the romance.

Sorry if it confuses you.