I imagine that I will
fold my arms over the
cage around my heart,
subconsciously endeavoring
to suppress the air
in the hollow beneath it.
But I'm sure
I'll only succeed
in drawing attention
to the vulnerability
I was trying to
hide in the
first place.

Even though few
people consider fleeing
as an act of bravery,
I hope I will find the
courage to turn
around and run.
But glancing back,
I will drink in
that which I've
been pining to see -
your face,
handsome and solemn
as ever.

Your heart no longer
says my name,
yet mine has yours
written all over it.
I'm scarred from all
the times that I
scratched it out
with a razor
in the hope that
I could somehow
forget.
It's a battle
that I continue to lose.
I don't know if
I will ever win.
I'm doubtful,
but ever hopeful.