V, I'm love sick. Terribly so. You should be a stranger to me, Any connection we made be through a screen and a six-hour drive. Things can be learned through a glowing box, But you know, my love, that it is harder to interpret Then being able to see one's body language as he tells the pattern of his heart. It is the touch of my person, And the rhythm of his voice That I anticipate. As I complain here, I am only minutes away from retreating back to that screen, Asking you and reading out your responses, Imagining how you would say it to my face. I try so much. And you sometimes let our talks flow easily, And other times leave me staring at a one-word response, Wondering whether or not you are going to close your own eyes forever. Wondering if the voice and touch I anticipate will ever reach me. I hate you for being like this. I hate how you shut down. But I refuse to stay mad. I'd rather seem obsessed than be ignorant Of the way you stiffen up when I mention your parents, Or your school, Or how you go dry when I ask: "Are you okay?" And then you don't say you love me back. I know you love me, But am I pressuring you? I know you are honest, and I express too much concern, And I am entirely too self-aware, But I can't help but make sure my efforts are working. You are precious to me. I don't want to be the bed you rot in all day, Because even as I held you, There would be little comfort void of emptiness. I don't want to be the blade that you tear yourself with, Because even as I felt your warmth, It would be a regret. I won't pry, I wont judge, I promise this to everyone. I only want to hear about your soul. Your art. Your city. Your sports. Your friends. Your dreams, no matter how small. "Tell me when you're comfortable enough to," "Tell me if this is annoying," "I won't judge you," And yet you seem permanently broken. I am not like the others you speak to, I learn and understand. And yet those people have made you put your walls up, So high that I feel as if i'm one of those unhelpful helpers sometimes. When I meet you, I will embrace you. I will ask for a kiss, if you'd like. And I would touch your hair. It looks so soft from the screen, Like I would bury my face in it and smell the sweetness of your soul That has been buried by the cruelty and prejudice of the world. I wonder if your voice would sound the same. I wonder if your hands would be cold and limp From the physical weight of your mental exhaustion, Or if they'd warm up when meeting mine. I may not be as big as your fears and griefs, But my love is sturdier than them. And if you'd prefer to hide from me, To stop loving me, To call this "corny," Then do what you'd like. But I'll wait as long as I let myself. Even if I have just met someone, I can read them, And I wont let myself ignore their suffering. Maybe it is a curse I have, But for you, I'll always see my curse as a blessing. Sympathy is not a weakness, Therapy is not your cure. I love you, baby (please text me back). Good night, Anonymous Loverboy (yes this is men-loving-men)