leaving only artifacts
Isn't it funny how the people we love the most are often the ones to dissapoint us the most?
I didn't expect much, it was my birthday, but maybe expecting at all is what gets me in trouble. I guess I'm not good at this sort of thing.
There's a man I won't talk about, not because he is a secret but because he is here. His past relationships have all been deep, I think, he doesn't say, I don't ask. It was my turn. So, I took his hand, and cautiously walked him into the depths of real. He tried to look comfortable but I could tell it was a foreign place; for us both.
Scared- nothing is black and white here, no amount of control can control the outcome of someone else.
He found himself looking at me camouflaged in grey between himself and my fears.
He is strong in his heart and I have scars that run deep with stories that would break anyones heart.
He has never written me a love letter but I imagine if he did, he would address them by anything other than my name and signs them with the first letter of his first name. I always hope for one, or even just for a moment of knowing exactly what he feels.
I hope for answers for questions I do not dare to ask.
Really though, there is only one thing to be told: On our fourth date, after the only part of him I will ever hold collapsed inside me he said, "you are so incredible." It was the closet I have ever come to touching true love.
I'm afraid what you might be thinking. That I am a certain person, and that you are the kind of person who knows more about my story than me. But you should know this: I love him, in an instant and with every piece of my heart.
And so I move between myself, on snowy highways and crowded subways...
I was there this morning and if you come close you can smell him in my hair.