The Horrible Irony

I told myself to never wait again. I told myself monogamy wasn’t enough. That love was a figment of the cruel imagination, and I was either going to end up loving too much or just not enough. I said that the balance would never be there.
I told myself that I was mistaken when I saw depth in a stranger’s eyes, and that there was no such thing. I told myself that eyes were just that, eyes, and that there was a pupil and things to attach them, but that there was no window I could see through. The eyes were no more than eyes.
I said that I wouldn’t be condemned as someone’s passing time. I told myself I wouldn’t give up on that. I didn’t think with my heart after so long. My heart was beating on the left, after all.
I said I was wrong. My head was all wrong. Invalid. Everything.
Everyone said to let go of you, because you would come back.
I told them.
I told them I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking away.
Of you watching those elevator doors close.
I couldn’t watch you. My vision was blurred.
I told myself I’d never wait again.

“Just come home.”
“I want to. More than anything…”
“I know…”

And I’ve got the good and bad days. There are the days when I can accept that you’ll be gone for a while. There are those bad days when I feel like you’ll never be coming back, though I know that is completely untrue.
Writing through letter is depressing, now that I’m used to all the communication we had.
I never had the right timing. I never had the right person.
Am I waiting?
Would that be what you classified this as?
Because I’m not using you as a past time. I’m not stalling.
Am I waiting?
Anything you want from me is something I’d give up. I don’t understand?

“You’ve got your whole life to do something, and that’s not very long.”

And WHY do I feel rushed? There is no rush.
Perhaps there is.

(you) hugged (me) back
And I never met you half way. You went, one hundred percent.
I didn’t call you.
You were the one. One hundred percent.
I backed away while you were stepping forward.
And it will never be because I was trying to subtly hint that I did not want to be yours. It will always be because I am insecure at the amount of myself I will give to a person, remotely close or not.
This isn’t anything new.
The mass has been hurt by another person in a way that may never bring them back to their selves before ever again, and I’m not saying I’m not myself.
But maybe I can’t give you all of myself?
Maybe not now.
I always wanted to try.
I did want to apologize. You have been so giving.
While I was, unrelentingly, hiding.

I was the one to talk. I was the one to always ask the questions.
Only because I never knew how I could ever answer if you were to ask me.
So I tried to keep it all low key.