My Piece

So, so much comes to mind when I think of you.

There's not one word, nor even a sentence, that could accurately outline what you are and what you mean to me. 

See, you make my head spin. You bring out sides of myself I didn't even know I had. Push me harder than I've ever been pushed. 

Sometimes I think I hate you. . .

You give me the worst feelings without even knowing and make me question myself constantly. 

And the worst part is that I can't even blame you. Because you have no idea.

Sometime's you're blind. And you're selfish. You steamroll and dominate; seemingly unaware of your own power. 

You're the worst thing for me.

Yet other times I think I love you. . . in the purest, most selfless of ways reserved only for the closest of friends. 

You teach me more about the world and the depth of life than I ever thought possible. You inspire me to be a better person, you open my mind, and accept even the worst parts of me.
So even though you drive me insane:

You could also be the best thing for me.

It's paradoxical, it would seem. A downright contradiction. 

None of it makes sense.

I truly don't know what force brought us together. And I don't think I'll ever have the priveledge of knowing the answer to the 'why' of our coming together and becoming as close as we have. 

It defies any and all logic.
The truth is that we shouldn't even be friends. In "black and white," "right and wrong" conditions, you and I have no business with each other. And that's something I remind myself of quite often. 

I can't help it. I find myself dedicating far more time to you than I am comfortable with.
It terrifies me. And I resist it to the point of near insanity. 

I'm out of my depth and far too gone to turn back. 

Yet there are times when I don't feel out of my depth or place at all. And I see everything with a calming and rational simplicity that categorizes you into something I can handle. 

Sometimes I wish I could just turn you off. Fast forward to the point where you might just be a mere distant, yet fond, memory to me. 

I hate how out of control I am because of you.

And I hate how I just let you do it to me because I'm blinded by my fascination. And because I try to never make much of a fuss so as to keep our peace. 

And even though you do care, I don't think you'll truly ever understand me nor even try to.

You want my smiles and miles and my agreeableness. 

But unfortunately when I fall into the tangle of scattered thoughts and unsaid pieces you spin me out into,  my smiles and miles become harder to come by.
And it's a trap I can tell we're already falling into.
I need to sort out my tangled mess and figure out just what it is that I want.
The easy answer to me is an end. An end to the madness and complication.
But I worry that's just my fear talking.

I just wish I could figure it out.
And fast, because I don't know how much more of this I can take. . .