DOS GARDENIAS PARA TI

03. THE IMPEDIMENT OF JEALOUSY

Indulge me for a just a minute,
And allow yourself to believe that I'm capable of such thing.
To imagine my blood boiling as I hear you talk of another
In a way I'd like you to talk about me— and only me.
To silently claw at my hand as I hear you comment
So innocently, however, I truly wonder
How sincere that cluelessness of yours is:
"I never got a good look at them until today,
Never thought I'd be allured to what they'd say"

To imagine such a thing would be as hard
As choosing spades in a silly game of card.
The usually composed and well behaved ego
Belittled and compressed in a little bag
To rest on your shoulder, following you
Wherever you go, near or far— all the places it'll go

I've spent nearly everyday with you this week,
And I still find myself growing sad and weak
I find myself wanting to elongate our time—
Hidden behind the face of empathy, I chime.

"Why don't you go for it?" I smirk, hiding the obvious annoyance,
You deliberately smile, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear:
"Too young, methinks."
"Too young? We are young."
"Not that young."

I plaster my lips into a line as I stare at the ceiling,
Recalling how then I wanted to say something more
But in the spot, I'm horrible at this game of court
"If only you knew," I'd say.
"Every question and every thing said has been done so calculatedly
I care not for the answers of those
That answer the questions I impose
I play along and show to care
To get a read of what's in this air.
To hear your thoughts is all I want
To ask them boldly, in your face, I shan't."

"It hurts me when you get like that," I teased earlier.
"When you get angry, I get sensitive with you— and just you."
"I'm sorry—" you say, your eyes softening.
"I tolerate it because I care for you. Because it's only on certain times you get like this—
Because you tolerate me too."
"Is it that bad?"
"Yes. Especially because I'm only trying to help and you push me away."
You listened pensively but I switched the subject.

You tolerate me too.
You've seen me when I'm angry,
And I imagine that's not the prettiest of sights.
You don't criticize me when I talk badly of the people I deeply dislike, you only listen.
That's not the prettiest sight.
I ask for you to come
And without hesitation you do.
You're there,
Which is why I even dare
To tolerate

I'm not a poet, I write in prose
But for you I'd try to write sonnets
For you I'd read an entire book in a day
And simply leave notes that remind me of you
For you I'd stay late through the day,
Even if all I got were four hours of sleep.
With the excuse to study but really,
I just want to be near you

My nails continued to dig into my skin,
But my smile told you otherwise.
"Perhaps they are too young," I said as I sipped my coffee.
"Wouldn't you ever date someone younger than you?"
"I don't see myself doing that," you chuckled. "Only older if not my age."
"Interesting."
"We're nearing a quarter— you and I."
"Yes we are."

I felt like a hypocrite then.
How could I get jealous when I've deliberately shared with you every fling I've had?
How my eyes have wondered?
As recently as two days ago?
With a woman who I used the same adjectives I use to describe you—
"She had scintillating eyes and the softest smile that melts one's heart," I said.
"The prettiest red hair and green eyes," I laughed as I shook my head. "I think I fell in love a little bit."

You smiled.
Who am I to not smile?
To not feel that joy for you?
To not encourage you to find someone
Who can give you the things I never can?
The love,
The attention,
The worship,
The affection,
The kisses,
The comfort. . .

I sit here and I think of you
I'm sure this is infatuation
Nothing more than platonic love
Mixed with sexual desire over you
And a need to possess you so the world
Does not take you from me
But desire burns bridges and changes people
And possessiveness imprisons hearts
I do not want a thing to change between you and I
I do not want to weigh you down
You, that brings the inner child in me,
Who makes me think all things in life led me to meeting you

After making a mess, I cleaned it up,
Mad that I'd made plenty of messes this day
"It's okay, relax," you said softly as you instantly grabbed some rags.
"It's not, I've fucked up too many times—"
"It's okay," you called me by my name, smiling and shaking your head "Please, it's fine"
"You'll get tired of me," I teased
"Of course not"
"You say that now—"
"No, I will not. If anything, you clean up after my messes too. You must think 'this bi—'"
"No," I interrupt. "Everyone's a bitch, but not you.
The rest of the world is a bitch and I'll fight it—
But you? Us?"
"Yes," you grinned. "But never us."
"But never us.
I'll never think of you like that, my love."