while we watch Cops.

trying to have a conversation, in the least critical/intimidating way that i can, about what someone believes about things (about themselves, about the world, about perception, about other people, cultures, races, sexes, gender roles, sexualities, about god, about humor, about good, about evil, about standards, about origins, about sex, about family, et cetera), and the conversation not going anywhere with its unconvincing statements that only leave everything spoken vague: pure blur.

you don’t know yourself. and i want you to. i want to know myself, but i want someone ahead of me, or trying to be conscious like i am consciously trying to be. i can’t fault anyone for its difficulty, but still, something is lacking.

the insinuation that love will mend and conquer a pair’s obstacles, isn’t absolute when one doesn’t really understand whatever love there lies beyond the attachments and comforts of simply having another someone around. when it comes to loving you intimately, i can’t love you and you definitely can’t love me if you don’t know how to know what it is to know who i am, what you are, what that even means.

all i ask is for maturity. maturity, and the desire to always aspire to know, to love learning to know, and to love loving what you know.

i’m just not sure if you will in time. i’m just not sure trying (and being so far behind) is enough. and yet i go on, loving you, incompletely, trying.