So many thoughts running around in my head, like unsupervised children. I think all of the things that I want to share with you, but am too afraid.

So many things that I build up in my mind about you, about us, about the cruelty of life and the love we shared, and this thing that we share now, what is it? Can it even be named? Can it be pinned down like that? No, not so far at least.

This is friendship? This relationship? Is that what this is?

What am I to you? I know what I want to be? I know what I wish you felt for me. I also know that I’m not that. I never will be again. I can live with that, as long as I do not have to live without you in my life in some capacity. I can’t do that.  

Our stolen moments together, a meal here, a walk there, a trip to the bookstore, a stolen night, wrapped up in each other, and a ghost of the passion that we used to share.

I want to write about all of these things, but I cannot, I cannot tell you, you will get scared, you will get hurt, but mostly, you will shut down and run away from me.

I want to write, but more than that, I want to make all of these things real again…


© Misty Bishop-Martiss