It's in the details

It’s in the details but you can't see.

You can't see through the fog that

divides you from me.

I'll beg you to try and you'll humor me so

but

You won't try the door when you make it

to the walls, you'll sit, you'll wait

There.

For me.

I'll find the trust and I'll give you the keys

but

you'll still say "give more to me"

And I'll humor you so and I'll let you in

more and more

and that's when you find my words.

But don't read them.

Leave them be,

those are  nothing.

Excerpts from a book I'm certain you'll never read.

You'll ask and you'll inquire

You'll say "won’t you humor me, please?"

But my answer is still no.

Maybe you'll be the one to see, not to read.

You’re patient with me, so i’ll be patient with you.

I’ll wait for you to see,

to experience in way that you can’t

if I allowed you just to read.

I'm not accustomed to demands spoken like questions,

a choice in the tone.

I’m not used to “if you want” or “you choose”

I’m not accustomed to attention...affection,

a genuine desire.

I’m not used to “come here” or “talk to me”

These foreign words give me foreign power,

or was it here with me all along?

Either way, your words woke something in me.

This unfamiliar confidence, unfamiliar trust,

what did you do to make me want to see through to you?

How did you do make me want to be seen?

More and more you ask to read my words but,

I ask you to see.

More frequently you open to me,

hoping that i’ll open my book to you

but still,

I ask you to see.

I’m here now, won’t you just look?

See me.

It’s all of the details, dear.

Every bit of me is open to you, so

why read when you can see?

But you say to me, “it’s the details I want to read, too.”

You say it's all in the details but they’re here! Don't you see?

Why won’t you look?

Look at me. Look at me.

Why do you keep asking for excerpts from a book you'll never read?

Why can’t you see that they are me?