confession

Why is it human nature to idealize the ones we care for? We create in our minds this perfect example, and all motives are crystalline and pure and knowable. The demons that inhabit all of our souls never interfere with our own quests for happiness.
Nobody even knows how I feel about this. Through the darkness I have constantly held on to a slip chance, an impossible possibility, that you would notice me. I don't even realize why. Logically I know that it would be a disaster. But when I felt so cold I thought of holding you, your warm skin next to mine, and this isn't even the way it's supposed to be! I'm the one hurting, in my mind I'm supposed to be the one being held. But that's not the way when I think of you. This is absurdity, madness, and yet there is so much that we could make of it. Something of beauty, reading poetry in bed, a renaissance of romanticism and carnality, perfectly blended to provide what everyone needs. I don't even consider a relationship with you, we both have too many hangups. You are a dark fascination to me, something that momma would've warned me about, had she not been such a closed-minded bigoted stuck-up cunt.
Yet, in my mind, this thing that will never be seems so ideal. Shining, everything I need and imagine you need. (It's my fantasyland and you need what I want you to need, damnit!) Some would call it twisted, this Dionysian revel that I imagine we could create between us. A life devoted to instant gratification. We could go out and be just be together, letting everyone know about our relationship, and pissing off a lot of people in the process. I know you'd like that, because I know you're enough like me to enjoy destroying the old order.
Damn, I'm way too intoxicated to be writing this. But I know it's a bad idea, and that's just an excuse. It's just that it has been wailing in the back of my mind since I first met you. I just don't want things to be awkward, you're too much of a force of justification of everything I believe in for me to risk it all. It doesn't seem to matter to me anymore. I just want to fuck and hold someone and, for that glorious moment afterwards when we're both laying there, thouching and smoking a cigarette, to feel like something nice still exists for me. Maybe I'm just too romantic, but I want something conventional and beautiful, the things you see in the movies. I want all the cliches, the ones I cringe at for show in front of people but inside applaud. I want to create a fantasy of flesh, ephemeral and not lasting, but something that will be there for now.
You have been in my dreams for some time now, plagueing me with your face and your wit.
I only wish you could know the depths of my feelings, but maybe it would be better if you didn't. I feel as though I have gazed into your soul and have seen something of myself, something that haunts the shadows of my own mind.