“Where do we stand?”
If I could write you a million poems, with a million words and know that after you’d be coming back to me,
I would write until the moon turns into the sun, as if earth needed more darkness for me to dwell in while I write about the light you’ve shown.
Certainly your true feelings of me remain a mystery.
Could it be that your true aspirations had nothing to do with me?
You’ve left me in a constant state of shifting confusion.
I’m blind.
I’m better.
I’m lost.
I’m whole.
Without closure, I don’t know to leave you alone.
My mind races with thrill that you’ll reply.
My heart thumps with anxiety from the fear that this really is goodbye.
I hate this shit, but I love it too. Thinking of ways you’ll comeback and open up to show me the real you.