questions in my eyes

do you see the questions, the many question in my eyes? in my hesitant hand, reaching for yours? in my open invitations, in my cooking, in the telling of secrets?

if I ask you, will you answer?

of course I’d only approach someone whose opinion i respect, whose life I admire, someone qualified to answer. someone who knows what they’re talking about, who knows me, knows whats up.

…so I thought you’d be a good choice. you’re tall with long eyelashes, you have a job and a car, you’re cool and when we're in bed... what can I say, its off the chain.

will you answer my questions?

of course you’re not that old, not much life experience. and you’ve only known me a few weeks. and you have a ton of baggage. but our time together has been amazing, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, I’ve never felt like this before. I think about you all the time, you’re special, I miss you, I love you.

so i have a few questions, some pretty big questions actually. am I cool, do I look ok, are my jokes funny, my thoughts intelligent? do I do a good job, am I nice person?

I see your answers. when you call me, come to lilongwe to visit me. when you pour my drinks, change my flat tyre, listen to my stories, tell me how your day was, kiss me when I’m asleep, show interest in my theories and comment on my blog.

I see your answers. when you don’t pick up your phone, look distracted while I’m talking, don’t have time to meet, don’t introduce me to your mum. when you don’t touch me, roll over in bed.

I see your answers every time I look in the mirror, look down in the shower, look at my phone. prove my worst suspicions, confirm my wildest dreams.

maybe I am asking the wrong person, maybe there is no right person. maybe I should take my big questions to the big man upstairs.