Years too late: Would it have made a difference?
I’ve been wondering, would it have made a difference if I had said something? If I had made a great declaration of how I felt, if I had just said something as you sat on my sofa and first told me about her. Were you waiting for me to say something, to react? I had been waiting since that night, long before, since I closed that door. Maybe, I’ve been waiting for you to come back. Waiting to see if you were ment to.
I don’t fight for it, sorry. I’m struck with the belief that if something is ment to be, I shouldn’t have to fight so hard against myself. It should come somewhat naturally. And yet, I try to hide it when that uncertainty creeps in. My heart breaks, I wear it on my sleeve. You show me your wife and I smile politely to her. What was I supposed to do?
So quickly you were there, and then gone. Never mine.
You knew I wanted you (still do), it’s clear in my eyes, that’s what lead us to where we were - beard burn and flushed skin - but two weeks later you show up with someone else.
Never mine. Never wholly belonging to any one.
Part of loving you means I want you to be happy, even if it hurts me. Irks me. Makes me utter broken judgements as a defence.
How much plainer must I be? Should I have been? Maybe that’s it. I never was, never have been. Maybe I’ve said it to everyone else but you. (The fear of deaf ears is a heavy burden.) But what difference would it make now?
I love you R.
(or is that past tense now...)
I don’t fight for it, sorry. I’m struck with the belief that if something is ment to be, I shouldn’t have to fight so hard against myself. It should come somewhat naturally. And yet, I try to hide it when that uncertainty creeps in. My heart breaks, I wear it on my sleeve. You show me your wife and I smile politely to her. What was I supposed to do?
So quickly you were there, and then gone. Never mine.
You knew I wanted you (still do), it’s clear in my eyes, that’s what lead us to where we were - beard burn and flushed skin - but two weeks later you show up with someone else.
Never mine. Never wholly belonging to any one.
Part of loving you means I want you to be happy, even if it hurts me. Irks me. Makes me utter broken judgements as a defence.
How much plainer must I be? Should I have been? Maybe that’s it. I never was, never have been. Maybe I’ve said it to everyone else but you. (The fear of deaf ears is a heavy burden.) But what difference would it make now?
I love you R.
(or is that past tense now...)