Come On, “Jenny!”  RUN!!!

I THINK we have room to grow closer, now.  I FEEL closer to you each and every day.  It has taken me years to brush the clouds off and focus solely on you without hesitations breaking my stride.  I hear my heartbeat.  I hear myself panting just thinking about you, out loud.  It’s surreal.
I want to print out one picture of you, tape my profile pic in the background of that masterpiece and hang it on my wall.  I want to be able to see us together.  I want to feel like I have a chance.  Exchanging numbers MIGHT help.
I’ll stay busy writing you love letters for the rest of my life, I swear.  Let’s be teacups in Beast’s castle, and sing and dance.  Call me “Your Man.”  I love aliases.  Let’s confuse those following our foottracks into deep woods.  Snow on the ground should melt and feed the seeds we plant.  We need not to rehydrate them with waterpales, hoses and rain clouds.  We’ve done the hard work, we’ve discovered each other searching.  Breathing confidence into me helped, thanks!  Talking/ journaling to ourselves helps.  We no longer NEED to keep each other secrets.  Call me Forrest, or Roger Rabbit, or Elmer Fudd. 
I just hope I can find those half-baked notes to yourself that you have yet to post.  Is your diary ripping at the seams yet?  Are there pictures of lumberjacks and Air Force Marshals sketched?  Do you see my eyebrows pointing under my Tom Cruise shades?  Is that your hand I feel rearranging the style of my hair?  Would you mind if I bring my heart to the playing field and call on it to make the final deal?  Will you answer one or two of the quandaries that riddle my conscious mind please? Will you guard the castle I’ve built you?  Seek me.  Find me roaming, lifting up stumps, looking for you.  Please.  Think of us frollicking while holding hands.  Let’s kick up dust moving so fast.  Cheer me on, I’ll stay singing your praises.  My hearing is not the best, refuse to let me question if it’s me you want.  Inscribe that you love me in your tears.  Let them gather in a glass cup so I can count the gallons of built-up guilt, regret and fear you have dealt with expressing yourself too.  Tell me that you love me so loud no one questions the Hand of God clapping loud.
Cinder-tell-us how to get along better free of hesitations.  Map EVERYTHING out.  Explain how I should move.  Let me decipher heartfelt notes that infer your heart is ready to be swept off its feet.  Let me know some way.  Blink twice really fast.  I’ve yet to master winking.  Sink my aircraft carrier or a battleship.  Iron my sheets and white out the discomfort showing its ugly side, please.  Ask questions.  Tell me expression myself won’t get me locked up.  Warm up my frigid body by telling me that you are indeed reading through my lines and warming up to residing ojn my side of every argument I face.  Knock relentlessly.  Please!  Calm my mind.  Tell me my frantic movements are fine.
Publish the notes you rewind each and every day into an encyclopedia.  Publish ME a personalized guide to find your heart, ma’am.  Call the doctor, reserve me some bedside inhabitants.  I’m going to need them loving me outloud too.  I’, going to need showed how to properly walk again.  I’m going to need to know how to impress upon you that I’m dedicated because apparently what I’ve been doing has been wrong.  Sing, or write ME a song, verse, morse code, poems that allude to the ignition button being pressed.  Just do your best by me so when I uncover the beating heart in my chest it feels safe blowing out the candles on our wedding cake.  

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