On A Train
Maybe if I could have said yes, you wouldn't have left me. I know that you loved me, even without you saying it. And I'm no fool: when you asked to go on adventures, I know you meant "please, stay with me, this might work, some levity to dull your edges, my love". It wasn't the first time. That isn't who I was, nor is it now, and even then you were still going to leave me for him. Or, more accurately, I would leave you to him.
I fear you. And, like a spider's web folding out from you, other things tangled into the idea of you. I like how you move, my raven black little bird; I like your skittishness and the delicate co-existence of grace and clumsiness. But I'm afraid of that, and the potentials therein. Rejection, distance, incompatibility, the serial of potential pitfalls lay before me like so many phantom wooden stakes. But the urge, the visceral reaction, is there, as is evidenced by the waves of jealousy that pour through my veins when you touch others.
Written On: Blackberry