too shy too scared too hurt too down
to make that break
connect with someone else
we do not bother any more
and just exist in silence.
even when the superficial
bodily imperatives compel
some action
even then
we warp through ten thousand
other things before
we say "I love you"
even then
it's usually a lie
of some financial import
or a self-denying way
of cutting off all further chance
of meaning it
or taking risks
of weaving some ass-backward path
through each encounter's
disappointment
to the One who waits for each one
practising the line
"where were you?"
where indeed?
and whence?
i wish i knew
i wish i could endure
the wait
the lonely weight
of paths i chose
and so
restricted or
reduced
the choice of future paths
each one a challenge
each a fight
each laced with aching thoughs of what might...
could have... didn't.
never mind...
now let tomorrow be more kind.
Little Black Book by Wayne Myers