The moment I let go was the moment that I got more than I could handle

I don't believe in planning your life over twenty years ahead, to me this is not something I can comprehend. I kind of see it as pointless, you leave no room to let things take their own course, there is no room for error. I like change, I like good unexpected occurrences, and I like learning to deal with what doesn't destroy will eventually make me stronger. The whole time I'm listening to your sonnet, that is your existence, I'm wondering where I fit into this. And I start feeling like I'm not so sure I want to fit into your perfectly methodical equation. You're a problem solver concrete and purely factual. I'm a free spirit, I am analytical but I look at things a little more abstract than most.
But, there are these pair of eyes I can't get out of my mind. Without them I become a cynical bitch to say the least. I think about them and everything slowly gets a little less serious, a little easier to decipher.

I think of you in colors that don't exist

We pour over each other, words bouncing off each other.
I felt so close to everyone last night, everyone except for you.
Could it have been the smoke, or the tapestries?
Was it the unfinished industrial lavatory?
Tell me, what made you get lost in yourself, to dig that hole?
You said that we were in a hell hole, well "our hell is the good life."
You are good enough.
I know you say that your intelligence is all that you have, but it doesn't have to be
There is so much more.
I see you in colors that don't exist, I can't describe your face, I can't describe all that you are to me.
I want to document what it is that lies between us.

"oh god it's wonderful
to get out of bed
and drink too much coffee
and smoke too many cigarettes
and love you so much"
Excerpt from Frank O'Hara 'Steps'

Ironically ironic

"You're trying so hard not to be what you already are, and that's okay because I really like who you are."