Scenarios, they play out in my head. I almost envy those without imagination; the uncreative. To live a dull, unecumbered life must be inspired. For the creative: the artist, the musician, the writer, life can be torment. We live as much in our own heads, maybe more, then we do in reality. And why wouldn’t we? Sometimes, the daydream is less painful than the real thing.
Sometimes I look at you, and see all the ways the ways the moment we’re in right then could play out. It’s almost as if I can see all the parallel worlds that exist, and see what each version of myself chooses. Sometimes I do reach for your hand, sometimes I do brush the hair from your face, sometimes I do cup your cheek and pull you in for a kiss. Alas, the me who does these things is a much better version of myself. The version of me that I am, he is much more timid, more cautious, not the brazen callous fool some see me as. But you see right through that, don’t you? Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so scared to cause an upset. But I’d still like to know if the possibility exists, ever far down the road. But there’s no use crying and whining over something I won’t try and change. I’ll either find the nerve or I won’t.
