I told you secrets in confidence and with a pinch of shame. I told you I loved you like fact and never fiction. I told you many things in hallowed nights. Many things in heavy conversations and weighted opinions. I told you many things as I caressed your head, held it close to my chest and watched Netflix with you. At times I would recite poetry for you as we were high, in my head of course because you don’t like action when you smoke. I told you things because I loved you. And I do. But I tell you things now because I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of the time apart. I’m tired of being tired. So here I am, telling you I’m ready.