It's been a long time since anyone has called me perfect.

I let the door shut behind me, and stared at it for a moment,
The smile slowly sliding off my face.
If she only knew how ironic that statement had been.

I turned and walked to the staircase,
mind stirring and bringing up images
that I wish didn't hurt me as much.
I'm beginning to think that the results
of my previous endeavor
are affecting the way this one is developing.
Frankly,
I'm surprised I'm not obsessed.
I'm surprised I'm not utterly devoted
          to every motion she makes.
This is what I desired so intensely,
and I haven't sucked every bit of it up yet:
                    I haven't devoured it all,
                    I haven't attached myself utterly.
Is this a defense mechanism?
Is my mind subconsciously holding itself back
          in order to keep me from falling on my face
          if things don't work out?
                    If she pulls away?
                    If she backs out?
I'm not sure.
The feelings from this come,
          seeping over me like moss
          grown over a fallen log
          that has not the power to pick itself up again.
Will I move?
Can I move?
Can I still react?
What's broken in me?
Can it be fixed?
Can it be healed?
Can I be what I want,
                    once more?