I lean on your wall, eyes too tired to take in
the yellow paint, peeling.
You sit on your bed, waiting.
Waiting for me to step in,
into the room, the smell of you, your body
beckoning mine, hands clasped around your knees,
eager to reach out to me.
"Well, sit down." your words prompt me from my thoughts,
so I go, neglecting to remove my boots
I perch on the edge of your bed,
words like cotton balls inside my cheeks.
You turn to me, waiting.
Waiting for my voice to fill the soft jazz tunes
with a melody of love.
But your waiting stretches beyond your patience,
for my song is not one of longing for your lips.
I came here to talk,
instead I collapse into tears.
They rush down my face, blurring my vision,
I hide behind a tangled veil of curls in disgrace.
"I'm sorry." I say, for I am,
but even more sorry that you'll never understand
what those words mean.
Because I like you. I really do.
Your gaze makes any bad day come unglued.
I search for your face every morning,
seek out your grin as a source of giddy happiness.
I know you like me too.
How easy it would be to curl up next to you,
to sleep together like nesting spoons.
You have known me for such a short time,
yet you know me.
You understand the slow pace at which I race
You have heard my hurt and comforted my sleepless haze,
and you are here, waiting for me to say
"I like you too."
But apologies and tears are the best I can do,
racking my brain how to explain the impossible to you.
I have been half of a whole for so long.
It's been too long since I've felt complete.
And you are so wrong for me,
you will never understand my poetry
or silly dances in the dark.
I like you, but I've been broken enough
to know the hangover after the fun.
I am done.
"So is that it?" you asked,
"You're going to walk out and never come back?"
"Only if you wish." I manage.
"No, that's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid
you'll never come knocking on my window again."
I swivel to meet your eyes,
full of longing, but also life.
You will be alright.
It won't be long and you'll have another girl on your arm,
a girl who will adore you the way you deserve to be.
"I will come back," I whisper, "but not like that."
And you nod your head, and I leave while you prepare for bed.
I apologize again, you respond by folding me into your arms.
I cling to you as if a simple embrace could repair
all the breaks across my heart.
"My door is always open if you ever change your mind."
you state plainly, and I shoot a pathetic smile your way,
and close the door behind me.
We both know I won't ever come back
and lean on the peeling yellow paint.