Patience
is limitless when I speak with you
no matter how long of a pause we take between words
whether hours, weeks, or months.
I've trained myself
far too well
in the months we've known each other
(48)
to never expect anything more
than your presence.
I view it as a gift,
that each one worded reply, every good morning and goodbye,
a simple sentence that you give me
is doing me a favor.
(I don't even get that anymore!)

Fear
is prominent when you speak to me.
You,
with a voice sweet enough to lure a confused traveler close,
but firm enough to tame the savage beast
have lassoed my emotions
and pulled them into a choke hold;
restricting airways
and turning them a sickly shade of blue.
I am scared,
scared to tell you anything.
I over-think every word I'm about to say,
and dissect each one you've already spoken
without the slightest hint of hesitation.
(God, am I envious!)

Guilt
is ever-present
when I think about myself
instead of you
and contemplate leaving you
only in my memories,
when you never had to think twice about leaving me.
(Why did you go again?)