words that were left on her lips

I feel you slowly slipping through my grasp. My hands, sweating. I am nervous and unsure.... of everything. Last year, I landed on a pillow of friendships and awaiting familiar faces. But this... this year, I face unfamiliar, uncharted territory. You are still so young, still searching, still full of opportunity and brimming with potential. My wick is at its end and I am burnt out and unready. I had forgotten that I would lose you. I knew I would. Back then, it was just a matter of time. Now, it's just a matter of moments. Ever fleeting. Softly fading. I am chasing ghosts once again.

I had just tied up loose ends, severed once, but whole again. And I'm slowly recovering and learning to breathe once more. But this longing I have found myself posessing, holding, seeking a way into your life-- it's not fair.

I hate to talk about it, so often times I don't. Rare occasions ever occur when I find myself at a loss for silence, not words, and speaking in scenes. Expressing a need... for moments, for a heart to heart, face to face, for words... to find their way.

I know that I will never be the kind of friend to you that I long for you to be to me. I know that our interactions will never stray from humor and teasing to conversations and connections. I know that my chance has passed to change what these people think of me-- how you think of me. And I know you will never see me the way you see and greet everybody else-- with such joy, curiosity, and wonder. I know I will never be her.

I am just me.

... And though this is not the first time that me being me hasn't been enough, I guess I had hoped you wouldn't mind.

You used to make me so so happy. I suppose I had conjured up this image of you, porcelain and perfect in your imperfections. Without words, without actions, without doing anything out of the ordinary, you simply were extraordinary. But now? You're the only thing about this golden era that makes me feel gray.

So now begins the routine of dismissing the possibility, ignoring the longing, forgetting the feeling, and moving on.... slowly. I'll accept this now.

I want your warmth, but it'll only leave me colder. It always does.