So Beautifully Cryptic

Sometimes I look at what you say and I wonder if it was aimed at me. I always used to before as well. But then when I read it again, I usually see something there, something that tells me that it was for my eyes. It can be just a word, or a lyric, or just a way of writing, something written between the lines, something that I don't even think about until I reread and realise that it wouldn't mean the same to someone else. But I don't see it the first time because it's just how we talk. It's just us. Left arrow three. Maybe this mutual knowledge of when we're talking to each other without actually talking to each other is part of the weird connection. Because I know you're the same, you know when what I say is for you too, even if I don't specifically say it to you. Talking to you makes my day too. But the connection doesn't stretch quite far enough for me to know what that meant. I said on twitter earlier, you're so beautifully cryptic. It's part of what makes you such a brilliant writer. One day when I understand. I think that deserves another blog post from you, with a clue at least. Because you should really blog more. And let's be honest, I'm intrigued. <3