The oil swirls in the water. Two full hours ripe for slaughter. Empty in all regards but substance, they’re saturated with notes of you like a rich merlot. They nibble at my senses just the same, too.
I chafe against the bit in my mouth, at the concept of waiting to claim the future. It’s a foolish squirm, the world that I want is unfolding at my feet in just the way I like. But I’m too zealous for my own good. I want more than my daily allotment. That careless desire to be immersed in what I love until it fills my lungs. I’ve never been good at learning that lesson, at lessening my pace. Isn’t that naivety? Or is that just me? The place where my identity merges with the expected. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the abundantly uncasual way I approach the world, it simply grates against the standards I try and fail to meet.
It’s just a truth that will feel less heavy once I accept its validity. I am not a casual person. I am not carefree or uncalculating. It’s not easy for me to be an observer in my own destiny, it’s not a simple thing for me to standby. Maybe it’s not an unsavory quality to want it all. Perhaps my passion need not be dulled like overgrown claws. It’s possibly just the bitter pill I swallowed to make my adolescence less turbulent. But I’m ready to claim it.
I am exactly what you see, my words simple scaffolding for what lies in my heart. I don’t want to take my time. I don’t want to see what happens. I want to run at the brightest things. I want to take your hand and pull you into my atmosphere. I don’t want you to ever leave. Is that okay to say? Perhaps I’m also excessive. Not for everyone, that much is clear. But I’d rather be exactly right for you than something that everyone finds agreeable. I’d rather fit one person just right than drape myself over just anyone.
I am, for better or for worse, entirely who I am. And maybe that also is; yours.