My crush doesn’t know there’s a word on my tongue for him. He sees past me, looks at my smile as a red plum, ready to steal its juices — sip the glow. He whips past cafes and brunch spots, knuckling a worn laptop, it’s where he stores his words.
I am the menacing sun, effervescent and demanding. I stand in his path, a weeping dialogue begins. I know he knows, but he doesn’t want to know and I don’t want to say anything that will lead to more questions of who we are.
Label purgatory.
If there’s such a thing — that’s where we’ve landed. The back and forth of indecisiveness eats us alive.
He is the blue moon on a dark Spring night, the silent harp. I, heart in hand, legs shaking and teary eyes welling up, break the ice; “You know, we cannot pretend forever.”
Thinking he would understand and soon… Soon… We would morph into a blessed abundance.
But he chuckles, wipes the scuff marks off his brand new Chucks and whispers, “but I am not pretending.”
He breaks my heart without trying.
©Tremaine L. Loadholt, 2018. All Rights Reserved Originally published in A Cornered Gurl on Medium.
A Cornered Gurl 
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