On being real

Forgive me for being me and saying weird stuff about you. Like when the time you happened to pass by me on the lobby and how I explicitly told you how beautiful you are. Like when I said how tempting your lips are, or when I said "Let's grow old together", or when I proposed like a douche I was. I meant all of that. That is who I am. One thing that I don't do is not being myself and not saying things that should be spoken and should be heard by the people I truly care. I won't miss a second of my life telling you how much your presence raptures all the hormones inside me and I want you to hear all of that. Because what if one day I'll be hit by a car? Or what if someone completely random kills me at gunpoint? Those words kept in me will be wasted and such beautiful words they are for you to hear. I won't let a chance slip by. I won't let a moment of not telling you how much you mean to me go into waste and be part of the list of my what-ifs or I-could-have-dones.

One day of not being myself is worth a whole life cut again and again. One day of not telling the simple pleasures of appreciation to people around me is a lifetime worth of regret. My hypothetical question of getting hit by a car or getting killed by a random suicidal may not mean anything to you unless they actually happen. What if they actually happen? I don't want my soul bugging me about the times that I didn't say the things I was supposed to say and make people happy, even how little it could be. I don't want to think, as I am recycled to a transparent state called spirit, that I had more things to regret than things to be proud of. I want to fly into the heavens with the memories of smiles I witnessed from the people I made happy. Your smiles at the top of it.

So don't think of me as horny when I ask you to kiss me more. Don't think of me as greedy when I ask you to be closer. Don't think of me as completely crazy when I say how humanly dashing your thumbs are, or your hips, or your nose and nostrils, or how scientifically magnificent the sound of your fart is.

If I ever get hit by a car or be killed at gunpoint, I won't have to say anything anymore. I said the words that I could've said the day I die to like, everyday that I lived. That's one less regret worth a lifetime of what-ifs and I-could-have-dones.