I have no real care to explain things to you. You’ve already slashed my heart by just threatening your sharp edge against my skin; mocking me as you pressed harder, just enough to leave an imprint. But you are the one who will leave with real scars. The kind that read in the wrinkles that have creased around your eyes. When your hair is gray and your belief is long gone.
I’m not saying I won’t have some of that either, but at least I know I tried – in my last awkward and maybe even feeble attempt – to lay it all out on the line for you. I left myself vulnerable and uncomfortable to look you in the eyes. It’s such a shame. But really, it’s the biggest lesson I’ll ever have experienced in regards to going after love when you know the moment is fleeting. Insurmountable speed has erased our time, and now all I have is the present to get through while clinging to my hope in tomorrow.
So I’ll quietly eat my feelings and desires. I will leave before I have to see anything transpire, proving that this really happened. And when I’m gone and have a view of a thousand setting suns, I will understand that my place in the world has always been right where my feet are planted.
Don’t look for me when I’m gone. I’m not broken Zula.