Wishful Thinking

I don’t have to say much to feel.

You understand my silence as music,

and when you speak,

I do not miss a beat.

I contemplate my desire for you,

suppressing it beneath my desperate need for simplicity.

I don’t need you to make me happy,

or to fix a part of me.

I am whole without you—

but still, I wonder:

What is it about you

that has me?

You’re dangerous in that way.

Unexplainable.

So I shy away,

protecting my mind,

silencing my infatuation.

This still stands true.

And even now—

I’d rather you hear my voice

like elevator music.

Every word, subtle.

Slow dancing with your thoughts.

Later, when you are alone,

your mind will wander.

You’ll close your eyes

and hum to the sound of me.

That night,

I will not lose sleep.