It is, I suppose, a bit unfair that I want someone willing to do the digging, to see beyond the bland exterior that strangers see when they look at me.
It is wrong to expect someone to turn their interior telescope to see the hidden layers beneath. To take their pickaxes to the layers of mistrust and brush away the minute granules of deflection that I can put up.
To sit beside all of my broken pits and pieces during the long nights with gentle patience, until I'm ready to bring forth and show a little more of myself.
To piece together the meaning behind the puzzle of my sometimes confusing and cryptic phrases as I try to put words to my feelings that are like sculptures, paintings, colors,architectures, 3D images complete with music that even the potent magic of words fail to appropriately capture.
To see, to appreciate, To feel and to love me.
But alas, the work, the patient digging, brushing, and waiting to earn my trust is more than it would be fair to ask anyone to do.
I know this. I feel this to the core of my bone and my being.
And yet, I still wish that someone with kind eyes and a gentle soul,
would at least want to try.