DINNER AND A MOVIE

So I make a show of not needing affection, and we don't touch, or hug, or even shake hands, and I become an extreme of the person I am, and it's really just a test to see if you can put up with it, after all. I tell you I'm not the "touchy-feely" type, and you respect that, and so I respect you, but wish you wouldn't always take me at my word. I climb up and down the playground of who I have become in the last few years, the last few weeks, the last few days, and the last few minutes, confuse myself and you with conflicting information. You surprise me with being willing to admit that you thought/think about me, so I confess a dream I had about you. You make what seems to me to be a rather intense effort to respect my space and remember things about me, but not so far that I feel you're being creepy, and not so far that you didn't lean against me when I had my arm there, on the armrest. To lean close during the movie and tell me things, your hand touches my face and it is cold. I want to lift the armrest that divides our space, lean against you and hold your hand, but I don't feel like I can. I feel as though we are too soon. As though we have arrived somewhere too quickly, and yet, somehow I am still surprised to hear you call me friend. As though I would tell you everything, you tell others we are friends and I feel like I've joined some kind of exclusive club. The kind that comes with a Members Only jacket...
Anyway, the tone of your voice makes it clear I'm not supposed to ask and suddenly I'm back in high-school and my father is dropping me off, and I'm trying to avoid talking about grades or I've just asked an awkward question or I'm embarrassed to be seen with him and the air thickens around us until I could cut it with a knife, so thick that I can't breathe, and I'm choking when you let me out of the car and say goodnight and I hope to God and whatever is up there that you don't hate me and that you'll call me tomorrow - and I cringe to myself and feel like throwing up or crying, for absolutely no reason at all, except that every time I talk to you I can't stop smiling, and every time we spend together leaves me absolutely breathless.
I run and run to the flat cold floor of Brooks where I lay and let the tension leave my body and I watch it go, sneaking off into corners to infect some other design student. Sorry. I conciously decide not to obsess but can't help but worry.