I’m sorry that it has to be like this. That I am a woman with wandering feet and a heart too full to stay in one place. I’m sorry that I cannot be one you need right now, and that even though I love you, I must chase my dreams first.
You are no longer the pounding in my heart, no longer the dull pain under the surface of my smile, no longer the loneliness at my core. In fact, I don’t miss you anymore.
I envy how they exist—just to be loved and taken care of. Just to be held and played with and smiled at. Just to be the wonderful, fragile, mind-blowing creations that they are.
As you grow, so do they. As your life changes, so does theirs. Each year brings you heartbreak or adventure or a new job or a trip across the country or some kind of change, and each year brings your life a little farther from theirs. But don’t let it.
Confidence is everything. A confident man is a self-assured man, is a man that is secure in who he is, is a man that knows what he wants, is a man that knows how to love. And trust me, women want that.
I want to pour myself out to you—my thoughts, my laughter, my nervousness, my insecurities, my hopes. I want to be honest with you, passionate and not careful.
The wind speaks long syllables in each sigh. The soil calls, coaxing my wandering feet.
I saw love in the classroom. It was love—pure love—that didn’t see a sex or race or gender. Love that didn’t label itself as one thing, but rather nestled into the hearts of people and connected them as they were. As people.
I love how songs can bring us back to places, to people, to slices of time that make our souls shiver in remembrance.
I can no longer write poetry about you without thinking.
But if I close my eyes and imagine your face,
I can still picture the curve of your nose
and the tone of your voice lulling me to sleep.