Heart beats,
Fingers stop,
And fire is about to ignite,
A storm approaches and I stop, wondering,
For this life is going on and on and on,
And I barely have time to really stop.
stop.
And I'm loved so vigorously by people who barely know me,
My face, my eyes, they are not mine.
But my soul eternally is,
and until I can rip out my chest with all the dust and cobwebs and corners that I hide, can I actually let you in.
Until I can actually take my ribcage and separate individual rips apart and show you the dead flowers rotting inside, You know not even the depth of me.
And they all try to know who I am, what color is my favorite and what's going on inside, But I don't let them.
Until I feel some safety. That you would neither judge or hit me could I even begin to start pulling my wrapped casings of me to expose to you.
I can't. I emotionally could never let you in, no matter how pretty you thought I was, how amazing you think my laughter is, how wonderful I can make you feel.
You know not me, How could you ever begin to know me.
For I am a novel and our relationship can only be a short story.