Seeding.

I haven't taken a moments time to sit down and figure out exactly what I was thinking the night we met. The bar lights were dim. And you had a smile-the kind Fitzgerald dreamed of for Daisy. And it caught my eye.

It's almost amazing how I couldn't help but fall back into place, with yet another face. The expectations of kisses and arms around shoulders were exceeded; and I found myself short of breath. I confessed more in the beginning than I would in the end-the reverse of my typical life cycle.

Did I emerge from the larvae too soon? Amidst the afterthoughts and hind-sights and endless attempts to rid the "what-if's" from my mind, I arrive back at the notion that I wasn't going to leave that shady bar without you.

The phone numbers. The messages. The cards. The letters. They link us, but they do nothing to bind us when compared to the insatiable need I felt that night.

To have you in my life.
To hold your hand.
To understand why fate dropped me into corners of mildew and hands with x's.

I could ask God why things work the way they do; why life is never as simple as it seems when in the first three minutes of knowing someone.
I could ask Him why in a few months, or years, I have this seeding feeling this same speech will be rehearsed.
These fingers will dash across the keys, and then smear the pages in the notebook, continually documenting all of the overwhelming questions I don't have answers for.

I suppose the good news is, you don't need my help.

I feel like I should fucking blame myself.