The Cement

Perhaps I should do this more often. Perhaps, only this is what I should. Indulge in the play of words. Play with words. Perhaps have meaningful conversations with myself. Perhaps, only look forward to socializing with myself.

It is amusing and annoying to watch myself be affected by you. You—whom I have known only a bit, only for a while.  Only a few days now. 

Is it a personal battle or a battle with you? But how can I have battles with someone I have known only a bit; only now. You keep returning in different shapes, forms, voices and in a variety of smiles. Why do you come from outside and not from within?

Because when you come from someplace else, you choose to stay or walk away. You leave me with no choice but to let you go when you’d like to or keep you when you’d stay. You make me sway to your tunes, make me go weak in my knees; you make me read things, read into things. In good ways and not-so-good ways. Whether I like it or not.

You make me look at him, admire him—whether I want to or not. Without giving me time to think over it; decide whether I want to or not.

All this when you come from somewhere else. It’s not like I do not appreciate your presence. I like you lingering around me. I’d like you to make yourself at home. Be with me.  Stay with me. Be me. I would want to become you. Provided you come from within. Don’t dictate terms. Recite to me your poems instead. The former happens when you try to conquer me and not drive me. Be my driving force instead.

Don’t just come home to me. Be my home. Become my home. Become my person. 

Become my being.