Do I know you? I know your smell for sure, and your taste. And I also know your touch, and your smile. And I know your shame when I look at you when you're taking shower. And your voice, when you talk to me in your language, and I don't understand a word of it but I don't care. I know your tears and I've seen your secret garden.

But do I know you? Or myself when I'm with you?

I know where to touch you and when, and when to kiss you and hold you tight. And I know the taste of your juices, the firmness of your breasts, the arching of your body when you come. And the look on your face when you wake up in the morning, all cranky and irritable at times. And I know that other look too, the one you give me often, that unsure look. At times you're so much in love with me, you cry, you hug me and make a thousand promises, and count the countless reasons you love me, and there are times you ask me what love is? If there's a way you can be sure you're in love with me or not.

I know it when you're about to ask me to not leave you alone and hold your hand while you sleep. And I know it when you're about to tell me to just play with you and not make any long term plans. At times I'm so close to you, you don't even have to say the things you want to, I can hear them anyhow. I don't even have to look at you for that anymore, because I also know your silence. I know your silence when it gets seductive and intoxicating, and I know your thick and deafening silence too.

And I know too well your stories by hearing them again and again, and I know when to nod when I'm listening to them, when to smile, when to leave what I'm doing and hug you and tell you it's okay, that lizard you killed in your childhood probably went straight to heaven and is happy. That parrot you once unsuccessfully tried to cure for a broken leg probably would had died anyway, that spastic kid who looked at you with hope you didn't give him probably forgave you; and that even though they are separated, I'm sure your parents both love you. I know when to say things to amuse you, or take your mind off the cameras without films.

So tell me now my Gold Fish, do I know you? Do I fear tommorow for no reason? Would you still be there? Can I be sure we'll end up together? Should I give in to the love that's tapping on my shoulder or should I just plain play with you? Should I shut down these voices inside your head and hold you tight or should I just let you fight your demons and watch from a distance?

I don't want to wake up one day and stand before a mirror persuading myself it was bound to happen, you were supposed to go away from the start. And I don't want to every other moment keep fearing I'm losing you.

And although I know the story of your walk ... and the colors you choose to paint your day ... I feel I don't know you at all.

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