Bathtime Speculations
What is the limit to what we could be? Does it even exist?
Sometimes, I look at us and imagine what it is like to be loved by you and be yours.
Most days, it is all I can think of, respectively, after days like the one we just had. You feel my imagination of fantasies and hope of the uncertain. Realistically, it’s not healthy, but I can’t help it.
One would wonder why, like what’s the big deal, what’s the great catch….the funny thing is that I can’t pinpoint it, but it just is. And there lies the problem, we just are…
So there is no actual source, no root source, no base to target and snuff. Everything just happened, and it’s unexplainable at least on my end.
I fear voicing what I think, for fear that I’ll make it true and give it more power, which is the direct opposite of what is expected of me. But oh, how wonderful it will be to actualize all the attention and focus of feeling on me. To know the underlying meaning behind the stares and smiles. To know that our separation is temporal and the inevitability of being in each other’s arms will surface till detachmeny becomes impossible.
Is it unhealthy? Is it too much? Should I be worried?
To be able to step out with the knowledge that we are ours and our worlds would be fortified by trust, loyalty, respect, and understanding.
But then again, I’m just a cat, watchful but feral, and you’re a dog, loyal but aloof…