“Can you spare 22 minutes? ”
He wanted me –
here. To be with him.
Beside him.
Only with him.
He stopped me
from almost leaving
him. The red chair carried me.
(Could this mean something? Ahh! A thousand sweet sighs!)
In his world
he welcomed me;
the other side –
where we
can defeat demons
though we can’t –
I can’t win it all.
In my mind I
blush. He’s limited! But I
think still:
(Does he really want me? He just wanted my time.)
I assumed. I continue to.
Every day I fill my heart
with hope
that somehow he
could possibly…
It’s a knife continuously stabbing
me. He can never want me.
Like me.
Need me.
Love me. (Please?)
It’s a flaming whip
to my heart
but I,
in pain,
indulge!
I am wicked!
And so is he.
And that is why we are
friends.
Just. Friends.
Commitment… rejection
He’s afraid,
I am a coward.
We’re stuck.
“Can you spare 3 minutes more? ”
I’m frozen!
Goodnight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem