What I waited for?

This could be both ways, and you did it on purpose. Sly self importance as I wait for the reality of it. Doors are knocking around me but they lead to other people's versions and not mine.
Continually I walk on, blindly but with an odd sense of faith that strings me along with a smile on my face. I am reliving memories that haven't happened in the sense that nothing can be better than the present, therefore the future is something bright and mighty and deep in resolution.

But allow me to sink in to fantasy for a minute, like a quick breather, and think that he meant love as in everything that it should be. Love to know every part, every inch, every second of the me that is showing and hidden. He was curious what I was doing last Friday and next Friday and every Friday after. That he didn't want to share. That he wanted to bring it all as well. That he can smell me when I am not there. That I sprint through his mind often and without his control.
Just for a warm evening, let me think that it was all with purpose and definition. Searching came to fruition. Pain was the cost of some type of rare bliss. All those sweaty days, lonely eyes, blank black nights, missing pieces were for an unseen cause/ wrapped up nicely and meant for me; only.