#shyguyproblems

You make me a mess of mumbled words and nervous antics. When I see your face, I can't help but look into those blue eyes. The ones which remind me of a cloudless, open sky. But with that green trim that encircles them. Like a snake that taunts my inability to slither smoothly through blades of grass. And then, specks of brown. Almost like I can see mine in yours. A reflective lens of my faith, my core, my being. 

But I can barely even mutter complete sentences in your presence. I find myself embarrassed, for some reason. For not having said anything sooner. For not taking all those chances I had. For not being brave for 20 seconds, or long enough to explain all of this to you. So I can move on. Or start that path with you. 

They say that your heart should be your guide. And although I feel like my pulse is beating like the speakers in an IMAX theater, I can't focus on anything other than silencing it.

And I can't help but feel that you feel it, too. I don't know exactly why. Maybe it's the way you direct your laugh. Or how I feel I can tell you anything. The history we have. Or all the other reasons that keep my head spinning at night.

You're just confusing. And frustrating. And difficult. And complicated. And sometimes you just make me crazy, and I go into a mental ramble listing all the reasons I would be better off just leaving you in the rear view mirror.