I stand and wait at the corner of holding on
and feeling everything I believe in collapse.
I catch my breath.
I wonder if she can feel
this.
I wonder if she can see me choke on nice words and feelings that consume and clog my pores.
Feelings that force out smiles and thoughts of tomorrow that I just can't have.
Feelings.
Time has plans,
but I have plans too.
I have plans that I think could make her feel joy that she could hold onto forever.
Love that could make God smile.
I look at her and I can't help but think that every mistake in my life has shaped me to hold her hand.
Shaped my back in a way that I could lift every pain from her heart.
....
Please don't hurt her.
I stand and wait at the bus stop.
I'm not packed and I don't know where I'm going but maybe I should leave.
But what if she calls me?
And she says that she needs to talk.
But what if she wants to talk about how time hasn't been long enough and that her seconds are hours.
What if the thought of my baggage is crippling?
I have baggage.
Maybe I'm not ready.
She's not thinking about you.
You aren't.
You aren't.
I'm. Not.
What if every thought I've ever had pulling me to her, is because she's been pushing away.
WHAT IF SHE CAN SEE ME SMILING?
The bus comes to the stop.
With my head in my hands
the bus leaves.
And she is looking out the window.
Maybe I'll be at the bus stop someday and it will be my time to get on.
She could be on that bus.
But she might not.
Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 5:12 PM UTC
I stand and wait at the corner of holding on
and feeling everything I believe in collapse.
I catch my breath.
I wonder if she can feel
this.
I wonder if she can see me choke on nice words and feelings that consume and clog my pores.
Feelings that force out smiles and thoughts of tomorrow that I just can't have.
Feelings.
Time has plans,
but I have plans too.
I have plans that I think could make her feel joy that she could hold onto forever.
Love that could make God smile.
I look at her and I can't help but think that every mistake in my life has shaped me to hold her hand.
Shaped my back in a way that I could lift every pain from her heart.
....
Please don't hurt her.
I stand and wait at the bus stop.
I'm not packed and I don't know where I'm going but maybe I should leave.
But what if she calls me?
And she says that she needs to talk.
But what if she wants to talk about how time hasn't been long enough and that her seconds are hours.
What if the thought of my baggage is crippling?
I have baggage.
Maybe I'm not ready.
She's not thinking about you.
You aren't.
You aren't.
I'm. Not.
What if every thought I've ever had pulling me to her, is because she's been pushing away.
WHAT IF SHE CAN SEE ME SMILING?
The bus comes to the stop.
With my head in my hands
the bus leaves.
And she is looking out the window.
Maybe I'll be at the bus stop someday and it will be my time to get on.
She could be on that bus.
But she might not.
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