to me, at least

Ours is a relationship of convenient distraction. You and your worldly experience and story-telling eloquence, qualities of the perfect host well-ingrained in the young of the rich and famous, to marvel and entertain. If I didn’t know any better, it would be so easy to fall all over again and again for that smooth suave surface.

But I’ve learnt to listen to the cracks, between remarks that prompt laughter from others, are cheap shots at the unorthodox, passing unnecessary judgement for entertainment at the expense of another. Me and my mediocrity, perhaps I pacify the insecurities within the cracks that you would never admit, that so few know.

Both secretly out to distract our unmet yearnings for another.

—

Ours is a silent acknowledgement. You and everything I am not and wish I could be, meetings so short and fleeting it’s easy to become enamoured when depth is missing. Me, I can’t understand why you pay me such random attention and what you want from me; but in the darker hours of my day such unexpected attention is a welcome, comforting presence. In a crowded room with hardly enough space for breathing, my heart skips a beat at the sight of you.

—

Ours is unexpected content. You and your many quirks, a reminder of someone I used to be intensified into someone I could have been, should I have not taken certain turns in life; or taken more turns instead. The easy, definite confidence which seems to cut through all my little indecisions and bring peace to my thoughts; if only for a while, if only when least expected. For you perhaps mild entertainment at random hours and too much attention when there is no other.

—

Ours is an easy allusion. Your quite, steady presence so easy to rely on for fun and laughter and not to disappoint as already from the start the mind sets different expectations, untainted by changes of the heart. In a future so wrought in uncertainty, it helps to think that if I can’t have love in all its glorified composition, at least I have your company. And you, mine.

Well, to me, at least.

—

I see-saw in between expectations and reality, looking, hoping, waiting for more – more meaning, more clarity; for respite.

I know who you are but what am I?