The deepest beginnings start by wading through shallow waters

It's been 30 years since I've had to think about these things.
A long time between lovers, infatuations, and flings.
While the players are new, their roles have stayed true.
(Yet I find myself lost; don't remember this cost!)
As I relearn the rules of woo.

If I could have one last conversation with you
A final day in the sunshine
I'd tell you I love you
for the first time
and the last.

If there's one more thing I could teach you
It would be that the way you're living
armoured
alone
unforgiving
is no way to live.

But I'd say it in my head, send it through my exhales in the hopes it subconsciously reaches your ears,
so as not to ruin the present moment.

We're sitting in silence
knees touching
bodies leaning into each other so it all hurts less

You'd stroke my eyelashes as they flutter with your fingertips
I can't remember what your laugh sounds like anymore

I can picture you laughing, but it's like a silent movie

But I remember how your voice sounds as it cracks through your tears
And I can see your restlessness
even with my eyes open.

I can feel your sadness
Its weight I can still see imprinted on my love seat

If I could tell you one more story about myself,
To the version of you that was still open
like a sunflower
so willing to receive

I would tell you that I'm tired of being scared
done with hiding my need to be protected
so tired of staying up all night guarding my own heart.

I may require affection and love more than you're used to giving
but you have seen my love move mountains for free
and I need just once for someone to do the same for me.

If I could meet you for the first time
one last time

I would share with you that I see your fears and I honour them
sooner than I did before.

I'd tell you
you're safe here

I would believe who you said you were the first time.

If I were to say goodbye to you again
a do-over
an un-doing

I would sit fully in that moment with you
and thank you for your honesty
forgive you for your shortcomings

Accepting that you never really unpacked your bags

Even though in my mind,
we had already grown old together.

I'm surrounded by these four walls,
My thoughts bouncing off of them;
Loud and clear.

I find comfort in these four walls,
Knowing that my cries for help never leave,
That when I wail at night no one can get to me.

I also feel trapped by these four walls,
They make me feel small,
The white colour blinding me when I come up for air each time.

But these four walls know me better than anyone else here,
They know the real me.
Because when I leave these four walls every morning,
I leave as a new me.

Sun dried pages of a book
you've carried around
long before the first day
your father picked you up
and you felt what it meant to be free.

The cover scratched
from the cobblestone walkway
leading up to your front door,
the one where mom always greeted you
with a smile that defined the meaning of home.

Coffee stained corners
from the first all nighter you pulled,
the day you learned
to keep your thoughts tucked away inside your bag
instead of out in the open where drinks and feelings are easily spilled.

Two covers stuffed
with a life times worth of letters
arranged into stories
that haven't felt like your own in years.

Paper filled with unfamiliar feelings
flee your fingertips and you realize,
you haven't been concerned
with holding on for a while now anyway.

Sometimes the pages stop making sense,
and all that's left to do
is drop the book completely
and create a new one.

                And you use what you learned,
                                    but leave it behind

His eyes are a different color
His hand in mine feels odd
His words sound familiar
His strength more obvious
His love more secure