on hesitance.

I like to think that I am reasonable and fair,
that my designs are of an honest and rational kind.
I try not to harbor any relics of bitterness or hostility
towards those who have hurt me, or hoard
traces of regret or doubt for having experienced pain
when examining the string of accidents and coincidences—
and my reactions to these sometimes beautiful
and often unexpected and earth-shattering events—
that unravel my personal history.
I’d like to say that all manner of things are well,
yet, I find myself—once again—sailing dangerous waters,
and just because these seas are familiar,
it does not make them any less treacherous.
I once again find myself questioning where I stand in relation to you,
questioning your motives, your intentions,
your (re)appearance in my life.
Why, after so much silence, have you sounded the alarms?
Why have you returned? Why do you want to see me?
It’s not that I don’t want to see you,
but you must understand why I am so hesitant,
why I flinch when you try to reach out.
You were the first person I ever felt love towards—
despite never having exchanged those words with you and
not knowing whether or not those feelings were even reciprocated—
and when you left, I was broken.
I can’t blame you solely for the ambiguity and uncertainty
that defined our affair, as I should have communicated
my sentiments better, but I often wonder
if you were even phased by the two of us together.
Did you feel the magic too? Or was I just mad?
I’ve been trying so hard to get over you.
I realize you’re in a relationship
and I feel silly when I think about you still—
when I think about how great we could have been together.
I just hope that this isn’t just some game for you
because I’m not a toy, and I don’t have it in me
to play make-believe.