How do I feel like? What is me?

I feel like I do when I’m tired and I’ve had way too much coffee when I think about seeing you in an hour or two.

I feel like the moments I felt when I was watching that big game and it went to penalties and I was just hoping my team could pull it off and then they miss the first shot and my heart sinks, when I’m with you making stupid jokes. And then when you smile at one of those stupid jokes and tell me one of your own, I feel like I felt when our goalkeeper caught the equalizing opportunity and it was anyone’s game all over again.

I feel like I’m looking at the sun and have to remember to quickly look away when I’m watching you write something and then you raise your eyes and see me there.

I feel like I’m fourteen and my voice is ready, willing and able to break and go up and down and sideways and forwards and backwards and everywhere and nowhere any moment when I talk with you.

I feel like little invisible imps jump on my shoulders and steal all my best words when I’m listening to what you’re saying and my brain is in overdrive trying to think of that witty response that would make you smile.

I feel like I’m a piece of butter in a pan that’s not quite hot enough yet when I see you with someone else and see how you’re enjoying your time and don’t look at me.

I feel like I’m a piece of butter dropping down and going shshshshsshhshshshshsshsshsss in a pan that’s way too hot when I tell you a story and you focus on me and are really so into it that you want to hear more.

I feel like I feel when I’ve done my weekend shopping and then realize I forgot to buy wine and realize the shop closed five minutes ago when you text me to let me know you’re not feeling good and we’ll have to take a rain check on that meeting we were supposed to have.

I feel like I feel when I’m asked to leave the bar by a bouncer twice my size since they won’t serve me anymore when you need to go and you say your goodbyes and hug me and everyone else and see you later and I so hope ‘later’ would mean in five minutes but it might be five days.

I feel like I just stood up in front of the class for no good reason and everyone’s staring at me when I tap you on the shoulder since I need to ask you something about that thing tomorrow or next week or whenever it is since it’s not the thing I really want to ask you about but something else entirely.

I feel like talk is cheap when it comes from anyone else but when it’s your word, each one is a freshly minted silver dollar falling and making that amazing *ssshinnng*sound.

I feel like I am the colors and you are the sounds and we are the matter at hand when I look into your eyes and you don’t avert and I don’t avert and we don’t avert and we don’t want to and the stuck record of that shared moment and gaze is alright and neither of us wants to lift the needle and continue but let it play a few times more, play it, play it again, Sam.

I feel like I’m playing chicken with a gang of outlaws that have nothing to lose when I ask you if you want to see something cool and then tell you I could show you a little magic trick.

I feel like I’m dismantling a bomb in the basement of a primary school and there’s less than a minute left on the timer when I start showing you that magic trick.

I feel like I’ve broken the 100 meters world record when that trick succeeds and your mouth opens up and your eyes widen because you weren’t totally expecting that.

I feel like I could break that record I just set all over again while dismantling that bomb and playing chicken with those outlaws with nothing to lose when you grab my hand and tell me I need to show you how it’s done.

This is what I feel like. This is me.