Crazy Imagination

How do I keep the high heart? The waiting is making me crazy. I wonder if I am even waiting. I tell myself to forget about it. “Forget all about it. It’s not up to you. Do something else mopey butt.” It does not exist, or does it? Nauseating. He says, “Why are you trying to meet other guys? I’m your man.” Oh, right. I had failed to notice. Really? You? Me? I tell you not to forget, and it is me that forgets, because I am convinced that I am the one who made it all up from the start to begin with. Perhaps I recognized a spark and grabbed that dying ember to keep smoldering in a tinderbox until the one I loved inevitably left me. It’s been so cold for so long. I just want to see you to ask you if you wanted it back, to apologize for taking it from you. But then, I think I can see your eyes when you realize how much I love you, how much I want you. Frightened, I realize this is unlike anything that’s come before. I think I’d rather stay here on the shore, wondering, than let the undertow take me out to sea. You say you believe, but I think you have even less idea than me what this will be and you want it even less than me. So I try to let it go, even if my heart, even my high heart shakes their head against such separation. I asked for this, didn’t I? So I should ride it out until you tell me to go to hell. And what if you don’t? What if you are different? Then it will remain like this, this tension, this longing, this insanity.

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