END

My endless attempts to reach you,

have been met with stone cold reticence.

The longing for you is quickly eroding,

like sandstones against crashing tides.

Your heart,
bound with locks and chains with no key to be found,
aching for something to feel,
but that reservoir has already been exhausted, n/u/m/b.

Wouldn’t you know what’s real

unless you feel the little things
deep inside your mind?

the hidden,
the secretive,
the emotions you cram down your throat with pride,
only to regurgitate when you cower in solace.

Why suffer this way when my arms are reached towards you
only to be brushed away by ego, by guilt, by insecurity?

Let. Me.

But I’m tired,

I’m tired of trying,

tired of the endless pursuit of potential resolve,
tired of trying to turn the page for you,

tired of waiting.