Musings of a Love-struck Girl

You asked me a question to which my reply was this:

No. I don’t think about you.

I don’t think about you like snowballs think about fights.

Not like windows think about cleaning,

Nor like grass dreads the lawnmower.

I’m thinking about dread.

I don’t think about you like computers think about crashing.

Not like nails think about chalkboards,

Nor like stilettos think about blisters.

I’m thinking about blisters.

I don’t think about you like poets think about life.

           Not like board games think about dice,

           Nor like rain thinks about kisses.

           I’m thinking about rain.

I don’t think about you like teachers think about weekends.

Not like books think about dust,

Nor like pens think about mistakes.

I’m thinking about mistakes.

Your response was this:

For once in your life, don’t be yourself.

For once in your life, be honest.

For once in your life, trust someone else.

So here you go:

I’m thinking about you. Honestly.

I’m thinking about you like a father thinks about forgiveness.

Like a mother thinks about the day they leave home.

Like I think about leaving home and this icky place behind.

Honestly.

I’m thinking about you like embarrassment thinks about a blush.

Like daisies think about “I love you nots.”

Like I think about being the target of too many “I love you nots.”

Honestly.

I’m thinking about you like a lover thinks about being betrayed.

Like a pillow thinks about dreams.

Like I think about dreams and how they fail too often.

Honestly.

I’m thinking about you like you think about her.

           Like she thinks about him.

           Like he used to think about me.

           Honestly.

I’m thinking about you.