I’m scared.
I’m scared that one day I’ll be numb,
that quiet fields at 3 am
will no longer remind me of you,
that I won’t notice worn cracks in the sidewalk,
that this smile I wear might actually be real.
I’m scared this heart is empty,
because you took everything when you left it.
I’m scared because you saw every corner of it
and you didn’t run.
I’m scared to love,
because I know how it feels when I’ve lost it.
I’m scared because the words don’t come easy anymore.
Because I can write a poem for each one of the trees
outside my window,
but I can never find the words for you.
They wait patiently in the distance between us,
so I guess these simple ones will have to do.
I’m sorry.
I’m scared that one day the ink inside these veins will dry up,
and the letters won’t arrange themselves the way I want.
But maybe that’s already happened,
because this is how it feels to have all the things to say
and no way to say them.
I’m scared.
I’m scared because these words are all that I have left,
and you’re not here to read them.