I wrote this then. I wrote it to get it off my chest when I knew it was too fragile to say out loud and because…
Well, because I’m much better at written words than verbal ones. I can write you a great essay, but I’ll suck at any debate. I can give you my thoughts, but without pen and paper they’re not going to be concise and I’ll forget everything that I need to say.
It doesn’t need much figuring out. I don’t ask you to analyse it. I’m not sure I want you to. But now I feel like sharing. Now I feel, for some reason, that I have to set it free. Maybe it’s supposed to help in some way.
I guess we’ll see.
Sometimes I sit & murmur
Things I cannot say
To your face.
We have many of these conversations
Where I am unafraid
And you do not interrupt with hurried word.
It is not that you are a bad person
But that I am timid
And not all I feel can be said,
Expressed or emptied
Into your lap.
Anxiety is my middle ground
Holding me between nothingness
And blind panic.
I worry about love & pain.
I worry about your love & pain.
My heart is too fragile to mention easily
But in these imagined conversations,
Where you don’t speak,
I tell you I love you
And I am not afraid
Of the consequences, unspoken responses,
Expressions of reproach;
For in those imagined moments,
I am yours,
Wholly & truly,
Like a promise whispered in the dark.
Apologies for the double post in one day. Check the earlier one for more glad tidings about my blogging award.
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