Do not look at me. What if you never see me?
I do not seek to bridge the distance between us. Is there an us? Will there ever be an us?
Afar love is still love. Right?
What if I take steps towards you and like Sunday morning mist, I can only grasp at you as you slip through desperate fingers. Slowly. Until you’re gone. For good.
I only pray that even distance is not snatched from me, that it doesn’t become the space between your heart and my longing.
If a bridge is built, I’d be tempted to go across, hold your hands and whisper to your soul,
“you are the one, always have been, always will be.”
What if it is not my soul you desire to mate with? What if it’s only flesh that draws you in? What if after I cross you run away, break the bridge and leave me on this unfamiliar side? One where the certainty of my unrequited love looms heavy? Do I really want answers to those questions?
I’d rather no bridge be built so I can stay on this side, my side;
Where the obscurity of my desire is shaded and this concealment offers me reprieve,
You are there. Somewhere in my universe of mundaneness.
I chatter about you to the moon, sprinkling a prayer or two, hither and thither that you experience what it feels like to love and be loved.
Even if it’s not mine.
I don’t mind.
How can I?
Your joy fuels mine; the little not so little joys where you return my waves and stolen glances, where you say my name.
In my daydreams.
