UNSPOKEN

I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for all the words left unsaid,

things I didn't do,

places I didn't go.

I wanted to.

I was afraid to be seen.

I didn't want it to envelop you.

Grasping through the darkness,

your spirit replenished luminosity.

I felt intoxicated,

drugged,

awakened from my hibernation.

I wanted to keep you the way you were,

unscathed.

I wanted to tell you that I needed you,

to trust in the possibility that you were different,

to propel myself heart-first,

to stand in my truth.

I was afraid you would see the weakness there

and exploit it.

I wanted to tell you how I pined for your acceptance,

validation.

I was afraid you would think it childish.

I preferred to keep a safe distance,

close enough to observe the brightness you exuded,

far away enough to retreat into my uncertainty.

I didn't want to feel,

to be exposed,

vulnerable.

I failed.

I felt many things.

I wanted to tell you who I was,

what I believed in,

countless words that ached to be spoken into existence,

to be heard,

understood.

I couldn't give them a physical voice.

I wanted to be indispensable,

a soft place to land,

a beacon in the storm.

I wasn't.

I wanted to tell you how I felt,

abandoned,

to blame you for my emptiness,

to get an explanation,

an apology,

reassurance.

You didn't

because I didn't.