Yearning

I’ve often wondered if you find the time to think of me. I ask the question because I find myself not finding a day that I don’t think of you.

We haven’t met. We haven’t seen each other’s face. The words that left your mouth have yet to reach my ears. My gaze has yet to caress your face. The distance of time and space between us, however, has not broken the beating of our hearts. I know that my heart beats for you. And yours for mine.

I proclaim to the world that I’m juggling work, law school, and other productive endeavours that a responsible citizen of this country should be engaged in. And yet, I secretly yearn that you are on your way to me. I take comfort in the fact that you secretly yearn for me as well, hoping that I wouldn’t take too much time before I get to you.

I want you to want to know everything about me. I want you to be strong enough to deal with my honesty. I don’t want to engage in a pissing contest with you. I am not afraid to be weak when I open my mouth to speak. And when I try to be the best, I can still be a little less. I want you to pursue me. I want us to dance.

I am the emotional platform that you can dive from. I can shut the world out and make us the center of the universe. Whisper your fears and I shall shield you from them. Tell me your problems; I will carry the weight with you. Your dreams will be my dreams. Your failures, my hurts. Your triumphs, my joy.

But it seems hopeless. You are taking too long. I feel unsettled, perturbed, the very foundation of my being shaken by this imaginary absence. Your absence. A gaping hole in my entirety.

I go out regularly, meet other men, have beer with them, hoping that one of them maybe you. I fancy them. They fancy me. But it’s always the same. “You’re extremely smart. You’d make a good friend. Can I be your friend?” I have enough friends already.

Intense, that’s how they describe me.

And you are my match.

And you will come to end this need.

Soon, hopefully.