Butterflies

For the first time, I actually say what I feel.
I tell you almost everything.
I'm pacing myself... I can't reveal everything to you just yet.
The words I write are scary even to me- I can't imagine what they would do to you.

Yet... You understand. I've never read someone a poem that was about them so close to when I wrote it. You loved it. You got the butterflies. I get them every time I think about you.

You're far away, but you're so close to me.
I love this and I hate it all at the same time.

Everything seems fine when I'm talking to you.
I talk to you for hours like I've known you forever. I feel as though this has been lifetimes longer than almost a month. Has it really only been that long?

I can't picture how this is going to go.
I mean, I obviously have my own desires of where I hope it will go, but the actual reality of it remains fuzzy.