not doing it.

sometimes it feels as though not doing it is easier.

it being kissing, making out, hooking up, saying you like someone.

it.

right now i'm not doing it. a week ago i wasn't doing it either. she's not doing it, he's not doing it. we're all avoiding the big IT.

we are all so fucking afraid of our potential demise. well guess what? it's going to happen anyway. a little rejection won't speed it up. a little rejection could be just what you need to slow it down. the world works in funny ways.

so then there's you. i've known you for ten years. we weren't supposed to know each other for this long; you're a charmer and i'm awkward/you're ballsy and i'm afraid/you're you and i'm me. our history is hardly cut and dry--more like chopped and reordered, segments of one important piece bleeding into another, everything is so muddled. a noteworthy detail: when you liked me i didn't like you. when i liked you you didn't like me.

but then you were back. you were at my going away party. you told S to get rid of his reefer, it was my fucking going away party for chrissakes, don't fucking ruin it. i was surprised at how you defended me. we talked. i felt it again. then i was gone.

while i was out i hardly thought of you except for in passing. whatever we had seemed unimportant, remnants leftover from a childish romance. almost nothing. murky water.

a week ago we spent three days together. three days cut and dry t-shirts soaked in sweat, sunburnt and revealed skin, feelings of pure ecstasy. the world was at peace. the feeling was back, but covered. i wasn't sure if it was mutual. i wanted you so badly. i still want you.

now the problem is how to say it. how do you word ten years' feeling? how do you tell someone how important they are to you, and yeah, you really wouldn't mind kissing them too?

ten years.