We've traveled nearly everywhere, it seems--failing at hunting down PUVs and taking cabs instead. We've walked so many steps in the baking heat--I, in shoes too stylish for comfort (failing at vanity, as I often do)--always in danger of slipping on a foot bridge step. I've come so far to find myself parked on a mall bench for three hours, rereading a book which makes my head spin. I've come to be with you, yet I find myself alone (again, naturally--or so the song goes).
I've come so far, waited so long, and felt so alone--to look into your eyes as we talk; to have my hand held on a bus ride, and my face stroked affectionately as we walked along mall stores. All this to feel a happiness so small, yet so full. One that I haven't felt in months, and certainly not from anyone else.
Sometimes I'm afraid to discover just how much I can do for you.
Love is such a boundless thing.
I'm tired of a life lived through your stories. I'm weary of the details of a good time or an annoying day where I'm always a spectator and never a character; the only reason they matter is because you matter.
