Late
I want to touch you, but you’re too late.
We promised one another we would stop speaking.
To make the distance easier.
For months, there was the occasional text exchange.
But that was the extent of it.
At first, I thought of you constantly.
Dreamed of you, thought of you, stared at pictures.
But as time and distance worked against us,
I made the decision to stop waiting around.
Emotionally speaking.
Why was I crying myself to sleep over someone who wouldn’t even compose a text message?
“If they wanted to they would”
Well, I sure wanted to and didn’t so why do I hold you to a different standard.
Perhaps you thought of me too.
Perhaps I kept you up at night.
From your perspective, I haven’t given you a second thought since that oh-so-casual goodbye.
I find myself wishing we’d hugged, kissed, cried, screamed.
But, maybe it’s better this way.
Maybe then I’d have held on for longer.
Now, you’re a somewhat fond memory.
Too fresh to forget the feelings deep in my chest, too far off to remember the bad.
Seeing you now, I can’t decide what the feeling in my chest is.
If I weren’t feeling introspective, I’d say desire and leave it at that.
But I believe it’s something more.
I hope we can speak about it. I hope you feel the same.
Things are always easier that way.
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