Did you miss me?
Do I want you to get attached to me?
No-one ever asks this though.
“You missed me didn’t you?” I ask.
It’s a rhetorical question. I know the answer. I want to hear you say it anyway.
I like to be missed.
I like to be wanted.
I like to be so far inside that it’s unbearable.
I like desperation and fear of loss and emotions out of control.
I like all of those things that make it dangerous for you. Unsafe.
I know I am not supposed to like those things. I am supposed to be looking out for you.
And I will.
But I want all of that regardless.
Then you have to trust me to keep you safe.
Which comes first though, I wonder?
I want the fall first, the reckless fearlessness that makes you leap into it.
The trust comes later, when you learn that I won’t let you hit the ground. Not too hard anyway.
Maybe you knew that. Maybe you just knew somehow.
This is not how most people operate. This is not how most people *should* operate.
But that fierce and fearless defiance is why you’re special. That’s why you’re for me.
I miss you.
Come and find me.