words.

It’s different this time and I don’t know why. Am I out of practice? Has it been so long that I’ve forgotten all of my rules?

I say that it’s different but I’m not sure it that’s altogether true. I remember the past, remember me, both reassuringly and with uncertainty. This time, I said it first. This time, I said it quickly. Why? Is it because I hope by saying those words it will be willed into existence, or perhaps let me acknowledge something that I already know?

I wish I had the answer. Not having it, I’ve learned to keep the words from leaking out of my mouth. Those words. The words I think that I see in her eyes when she looks at me, but she is smart enough to hold them inside, protected but not unavailable. See it in the eyes, feel it in the soul, in the heart, in the dreams.

Wait. Dreaming can be dangerous. This is what I know, but it is only dangerous if the dreams remain only that. Once imagined, once spoken, they need to be worked for, fought for. Sacrificed for. This is what I know. This is what I am willing to do, but is she?

I don’t say those words anymore. I’m careful now. I watch, I wait. Hell, I can’t even say that I know what those words mean, not with certainty. Perhaps they mean something different every time they are said, perhaps they shouldn’t be said at all, only presented in a gilded heart-shaped box, lined in blood red velvet, and in that box are the dreams that you both made come true. Rearrange the letters until there are enough to spell out the words as often as you wanted to say them, and maybe then, maybe then I will know what they truly mean… again.

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One response to “words.

  1. Pingback: Each word is a world waiting to be discovered. | Long versions.

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