Still

'I still love him.'

Those were the four plaintive words on my last tweet. The painful lovechild of a three-year attraction and the inability to let him go.

Ah the curse of this beautiful season, that amplifies both joy and melancholy.

Every endearment he throws casually on me, every smile, every playful jibe, I treat like fragile beautiful things. I am so afraid of letting my more-than-affection slip through. He is an unusually intuitive person; he might well sense it. Might well back away from me, so that I lose even that one thing I have from him: his friendship.

The tender festering flower inside me blooms for him still. Its velvet petals breathe tentatively, half-dead, yet half-awake, and wait mindless for his return.

But there is no return. It would not matter if we were neighbours; if we were roommates, even. I can never tell him.

I can never risk losing him.

I can never...


~ ~ ~

Love that loves alone can turn to hate. That is the damning flaw in the human need: for two halves to be a whole.
Serpent 25:12

Said woman take it slow, it'll work itself out fine; all we need is just a little patience.
G'nR 19:92


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