You are a person I trust.
Year after year, my memory
moves on without prescribing
me medicine to recall each
shared moment,
but I know we don't need
proof to explain how we
know each other's thoughts
in a quick glance.
I hide a bit when I'm with you.
I wish I didn't.
In this small town, people look
up to me. It's not that I'm being
presumptuous, but I am
genuinely interested in being
available at anyone's
sudden request.
I am happy with what I do,
my home away from home
in the choir loft
where voice meets lost souls.
It's never that I'm insincere,
just that I fear no one realizes
I have a carriage full of
imperfections...
and sometimes, that carriage
is being led on by demons.
What scares me is that
most people I know will never
fathom I am capable of doing
the acts I chose multiple times.
I'm too wise, mature, focused,
faithful for that...
Shock, denial, the fear that
I cannot speak my heart's
deepest truth without
hurting others.
I want to tell in order to have
one person know, understand,
hold me.
Attention means nothing to me,
but when I think of you, I wish
I could cry on your shoulder,
let you know the burden
I made for myself, how I'm working
on it but I need support.
Why do I keep telling myself
that is selfish?
We both care about each other,
you are like a brother to me,
an adult who is not my parent
yet I still feel close to.
I often pile blankets on top of
my body just after midnight,
with the shade drawn slightly,
laying on my back
awake and dreaming.
I don't dream of impossibility,
do I?
Maybe someday, I can speak
the hopeless right out of me,
and I will feel your heart
flooding to fill my misguided
spaces.
