some times some more times or An Attempt do Dare

And they keep asking me, the voices in my head: why do I like you?...

I keep answering: it's his voice, his voice is so strong and specific...

His voice is calm and explanatory, you know?

And even the "you know" I say is yours.

It is a copy of yours, cause I used to like the way you used to say "you know", you know?

See, I keep repeating it, as if it is bringing you closer.

But right after I say it, you're not there, and instead I get tears as a replacement of your voice.

And all is fine, you know?

It is just little lapses of time during my day when I feel my face wet by surprise.

It happens randomly, anywhere, especially where it shouldn't, you know?
And the voices keep going, asking: do you like him only for his voice?

Well, I must say, I think that's reason enough!

But, no...

There are other reasons, like the way you explain things.

Every little story becomes so magic coming from your eyes.

It is all so special, like a kid looking at a toy, thinking that if he doesn't catch it right away, he may never catch it.

Kids are so right all the time.

How can you know if you will ever have an opportunity again? Any opportunity...?

That's how you explain things, like someone who knows that not having another chance is so real and inevitable, sooner or later.

Arbitrarily, a voice escapes from a hidden place somewhere, placing a thought like: but remember that he had something you didn't like...

And that voice tries to find an example of what that was, unsuccessfully...

So another voice jumps in saying: see, that is typical and cliche, you have this naive passion and cannot reason properly. How can someone have no defect?

I ponder for a bit...

The only thing I come up with is: I had fun even with your defects.

They seemed to be there to highlight your qualities.
"What qualities are there to deserve so much attention, so much liking?"

At first, all I can think is your smile.

Your smile lives in your eyes and hands.

It get spread with the sounds you make...

There's also the way you walk and the way you care about the ones lucky enough to cross your way.

And I could keep going on but the freaking voices are restless:

"Ok, so you know that... Is there more? Aren't you only fantasizing about him? Are you not just creating something you wanted to be real?"

I keep saying no!

Sometimes maybe...

But I know that I don't like you for anything you never showed me.

All my liking for you comes from something I experienced.

The voices never stop!

They insist!

As if I don't deserve to like you.

As if trying to keep me from falling, not realizing I already fell.

And tired of screaming, noticing I resist, they breathless say: then please dare!

(Pause)

Dare!

(Pause)

They win.

They win seeing myself hiding behind words and phrases I don't dare to say. You know?

You Know?

I know you made me more than what I was before and I learnt the pleasure of enjoying opposites, of not having to judge to like a person... or just to like.
But you were like my poetry, sometimes the end comes before the beginning...

And coming before, I cannot end it even when it is already done...
You know?
Can I tell you something?

Your qualities only make the other's look like defects...

Sometimes

You know