Even if I wish I didn’t want to admit it, I love how my days start and end with you. Even if you’re miles away, I can still feel you as near as anything, which makes pulling away all the more difficult. I know I should rely on the little amount of inner strength I have to tell you all that I have, that you are the dream I have with eyes wide open, that you are the words I could never write down. It’s not because you’re difficult, it’s not because I don’t have the reasons to, but because I never have the right ones to set you in.
Should I stay?
Can I stay?
It’s always a matter of questions, never answers with you. I remember you in fleeting memory. I remember you and you linger, as if you stayed longer than the hours on the clock. I remember you even if you forget. I never remember to forget. I wish I could remember how to forget, but again you’d try to find me anyway.
I wish to seek to hide, to receive in order to ask, to find the door waiting to be knocked. In some way, it must’ve meant that, reading between the lines of Scripture. What if you had to do all that in reverse, to find more than what was bargained for? Never. I always had to do it the way it must be done, not should have done. It’s not like I never had a choice anyway.
In hiding there is seeking, but sometimes I wish not to be found. It is in hiding that I can still feel you near, even if the truth is trailing behind my back, beating down my aching limbs, crying out that I should best go on my way to a paradise without you there. Without, without.
Again, I’ve never been good at the requited. It’s always never a story about me and you, nor me + you. It’s always the story of me without you. You, me.