I wish I could take this back:
my silence.
My heart ran out of ink
when I actually had words
worth recording.
Fingertips were frozen together
when I actually had someone
who would separate them,
rather than let me die of pneumonia.
I wish I could take this back:
my blindness.
You held open the door
to my smile,
but I was numb.
I let my pain strangle me
with bare hands.
I wish I could take this back:
your patience.
I didn't deserve it.
I don't deserve it.
You waited for me
and it has taken me this long
to find my way out of misery.
But I'm still a blur of contradictions,
holding tightly your love lines,
secretly hoping
that you don't write them
for anyone else.
You have every right to.
I have a hundred of my own
written with you in mind,
but none of them are perfect.
I wish I could take this back:
my rambling.
When I get nervous,
I don't shut up.
Shut me up.
