i have loved in silence,  
            in the spaces between glances,  
                    in the margins of conversations.  

    i have swallowed my voice,  
            pressed it down like a crumpled page,  
                    let it sit, let it burn.  

    my friends fall into love like skipping stones,  
            weightless, effortless,  
                    rippling into something soft.  

    but i am always the rock that sinks.  
            no hands reach down.  
                    no arms pull me up.  

    "they" call it unnatural.  
            "they" call it a phase.  
                    "they" call it a sin.  

    i call it loneliness.  
            i call it longing.  
                    i call it mine.  

    my heart is an empty chapel,  
            candles burnt to stubs,  
                    hymns caught in the rafters.  

    i ask god if there is love for me.  
            i ask the sky, the stars, the wind.  

    (silence.)  

    i press my forehead to the floor,  
            to the dirt, to the dust,  
                    to the quiet ache in my chest.  

    "please," i whisper.  

    (nothing.)  

    somewhere, a hand is waiting.  
            somewhere, a love exists.  
                    somewhere, i am seen.  

    but not here.  
            not yet.  
                    not now.  

    so i wait.