This post is not a Poem.
Not unless the words, as I write them, as you read them, as they are seen and understood and digested by the thousands of firing synapses, seem to liquidate and flow and merge into a series of sound images that make sense to you alone, in a subjective companionship of a common empathetic achievement.
If so, then I am honoured.
In some ways this is an effort at catharsis, though I am doubtful of its fruitfulness towards the result I wish most to achieve.
Doubt has haunted my steps for days now. I was in love and wished for nothing more than to see the long years of eternity together. Jealousy, insecurities and silence dug a grave for that vision and that future, if it ever had a chance of blooming, is now dead. Amidst the yellowing leaves of its vestiges, it has left behind that eternal nail, hammering constantly into my sanity – “What If…?”
We agreed to remain friends, but the conscious acknowledgement of our definite division fills me with a constant terror of doing or saying the wrong thing. I am guarded, I am vulnerable, my strength is a sham; hope and defeat knaw at the fraying ropes of the defenses I wear everyday, until it is all I do to swallow my screams, lodging them in my throat, while my mind seeks a way to find some hidden avenue for a release. I have not yet found one.
I have stepped into a new day, knowing that I have connections that tie me to an unfulfilled past. I am afraid of what staying in this limbo could mean. I am afraid of what letting go could mean.
I am simply afraid of shaking the status quo.
Yet, I am aware things cannot remain this way.
I must find courage.
Despite my considerable fears.
I suppose it is a matter of perspective.
Thank you for listening to me. Even if you haven’t.
© Ruth P.
No part of this work is to be reproduced.
(Though I doubt this one ever will)
DIVERGENTCANDOUR 