You know what I do to keep myself happy?

Even when it's raining, I pretend it is summer. And I pretend I'm still very little. But focused. I do know what I want. But when it's summer I feel like - in case I don't get it - I'll be just fine. I have the sun/The warm wind on my face/The bare feet to walk on.

Maybe I'm walking in circles.

Maybe we are walking in circles, like a dance.

Dancing is always in circles.

Still when you think you've missed me, I may just be right behind you, scared to death that you may find me and yet, fascinated by whatever fabric you're made of.

What are you made of? Be my tour guide to your presence, will you?

Tell me your stories. What you're afraid of. What makes you laugh. Where it hurts the most when you choose to be who you are and what you've been through. Maybe I'll tell you a little bit about myself too. Or maybe you could figure it out. If we were little it would be so easy for us to get to know each other. If we could start over, we wouldn't be so worried about the thousand possible ways we can ruin ourselves if we decide to hold hands. When we held hands to play, there were no doubts, no expectations. Now the waiting and the wondering is murdering initiative. And everything else around just makes us not know how to smile.

There was this day when you looked at me like you wanted to take me home with you. I could swear that in an alternative universe you did come back and say it outloud, but I'm not sure I followed you. At that moment, in my mind I did, but home was right there - where you were standing. Home was you. You held my hand and took me to you. And in my mind I did acquiesce.

Whatareyoumadeof?

I'm tired of seeing only myself in everything around me. But if I take the time to see you, if you take me there, is it a one way ticket?