Waiting drives you crazy

I want to tell her the things I say inside my prayers, but it has no use for a godless person that I have become.

I know her hopes and I know the crushing weight I bear inside my body that every gesture of touching seems to exert an insurmountable pressure of a grief that I swallow raw to taste for the sake of familiarity.

I know how she endures and I know how difficult it is to survive me.

I know her dreams; how her mind keeps pacing back to the lane where I have left her starved. I know how easy it is for her to give in and I know how simple it is for me to ruin.

Because I know me, and I know myself well.

I know how I shiver and I know how I crawl back inside my hollowness just to make it all predictable. She would walk my way just to understand the hatred I own, she would kiss me again just to recognize the blood that bleeds from all the frantic biting, and she would build my fragments if she has to — if I want her to.

She would keep loving me, I know this well enough to shed my skins away and feel weak right where my heart has long been absent in my chest. And I, I would drift apart like a slow continuum of a burn I can’t help but traverse. I would run the opposite direction just to prove that I am not what she wants. I came from somewhere far and I would create a point through the distance. She would dress up for me and I would keep pretending that I am not the light she needs to see; because I am hurtful when I am hurting and everything hits too close as a wound.

I want to tell her the things I say inside my prayers, but I have become a godless person who sinks too deep into my thoughts. I am pulled by the current of my worries and I can’t be anything for anyone just yet. I am devoured by the void of possibilities and I can feel myself physically shrinking when I am embraced. Her arms feel like surrender, but I can’t come home yet.

I am really not certain if I ever will.