Some Days

Some days I think I’m more in love with the idea of being in love.

Some days I long for gentle brushes, skin-to-skin,
Fingers intertwining, palms pressed so tight.

Some days I crave long conversations about the universe, as cheesy as that sounds.
How the earth beneath our feet breathes millennials of history,
And some days we’d argue about who was the uglier child.

Some days we’d choose silence over long talks,
When millions of things could be said but we’d rather waste time speaking nothing.
When your slow, steady breaths do all the talking for me.

But some days I’m content with no company,
No sounds to reciprocate,
No questions to answer,
No conflicts to resolve,
Merely me, existing in my own bubble with my own floating thoughts.

Some days I’d rather dream than make reality,
Because it’s easier even through the frustration,
It’s comfortable, risk-less. Where did my spirit go?
Where is my spirit?

Some days, confusion overwhelms me. Am I merely humouring these ideas?
Or am I ready to step forward,
Turn some days into most days,
Bear the bad as much as to bask in the good?

Or is all of this pointless?
“Stop overthinking and just go with the flow.”
I’ll stop when I’m given a chance to stop, when I’m not plagued by a thousand worries,
Countless self-inflicted stress.
Maybe I’ll stop then.

But yes, some days I wish for many things.

Some days I think I’m more in love with the idea of being in love.

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