Friday 17 November 2017

You ask me if I would go.

If he, the one.

My one.

In years to come, long after the air has forgotten the scent of my sobbing.

Long after my longing has calcified into acceptance.

Long after I have learned how not to lean against the lies of my heart.

You ask me if I would go.

If he asked me to come to him.

If I would allow my heart to go again to those places.

Places where idiots roam unattended, bleeding, barren, broken.

You see, I would go.

If he reached out his hand to me.

All former memories laced with heartache would condense in that moment.

Into a cloud of blissful amnesia.

And I would take his hand and hold on for dear life.

For the few seconds, for that brief season that he would allow himself to witness my ineptitude.

You see, I would go.

What you need to understand, is that I no longer have a heart.

He may have walked away.

When I held it out to him.

But what he didn’t see, with his back turned.

What no one saw…

Is that my heart followed him into the shadows.

So if he asked me to return to my heart…

I would have no choice.

You see, I would go.

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