This here, what we have, is a sad tale. Worse even than the love stories I’ve watched, read, and heard about because of its reality for us. You and I and the present; what a threesome we are. I could hardly write more. Use the ups and downs and twists in my life, you told me, to fuel my writing and spur me onward. Ride the crescendo of my emotions like a surfer with the waves.
I love you. It’s a truth within me whose voice I shelved for the right moment. But will there ever be a right moment ever? Will it be just a dream, the whispered exchange of these meaningful words?
And I dwell on how things could have been. If this were that and such, would I not have hastened, would you have caught on? Because assumptions are stupid, when would’ve we known each other’s heart and how will we have shared them? If Fate didn’t deal such cruel cards will we have been better of? And the most haunting, if I never have left could it be that today, we’re the content couple that in my mind we are?
The sweet melancholy through these fantasies wrap my heart in a silent reprieve, grips it rather. I hold on to it because I know that the moment I let go I will shatter. This artificial relief I will keep for as long as I can until I know that the pieces, that is my self, will hold together no matter how broken.