Untittled Poem by Angelia McKee

In his eyes, I saw the way it could have been and in my heart, I suppose I knew, the way it never would be.
So, I took my heart and guarded it with all my strength.
I built up the walls as high and strong as I could.
Then I turned my soft heart into stone, the warmth, into ice.
Then, I wished someone would come along to wrap their arms around my cold, hard heart.
Chip away the stone, melt the ice, and tear down the walls.
Suspecting it would be impossible, even if someone tried, I simply wait, even if it is only in my dreams.
Somewhere, in the bottom of my heart, I know, I shall never again love as freely as I did then, because even after all this time, my heart is still not my own.
Agony: hidden by the nagging of my conscience, telling me it will never be. Now though, I wonder.
Is it even remotely possible, that every once in a while, I pass through his mind, and his heart misses a beat, or even two?
The ‘ping’, stating disillusion and regret, still there?
Now I ask myself, why?
Why could I not have loved wholeheartedly, setting my pride to a distant corner?
So, with no better solution to dull the pain, the tears of eternal loneliness fall, softly staining my cheeks with the residue of lost hopes and dreams.