If I Blink, He Disappears

Photo by Sabrina Figueiredo-Vaz Holder via Redshot

I want to tell him that the days of us
growing together sneak up on me
at times — unexpected. I still love him.
I find myself searching through
old arguments to see where we
missed the point of clarity.
How did we not understand what
was right in front of us?

I have gray hair in places unthinkable —
everything is aging and I’ve lost
my way from him. I thought,
I couldn’t catch up to him —
he wasn’t my speed. I ran
and ran and ran and kicked up
dust in three different States, yet
we never saw eye to eye.

If I blink, he disappears.
I want to hold on to the memories
of us for as long as my chest
heaves up and down and as far
as my legs will carry me, but time
is no longer of the essence.

Everything is aging.
I find myself searching through
old arguments to see where we
missed the point of clarity.
Our wrinkles tell the story of us
and the past lives we’ve lived.
He is still my fantasy unfulfilled,
my wants go unnoticed.
Should I tell him my heart
still has space for him?

A friend of mine said she
hopes one day I meet someone
because I’m such a great human.
But am I, though? Is there something missing?
Something that could make me more?
I struggle with these questions —
these questions of me and who
I was and who I should be.

If I blink, he disappears.
I want to tell him that the days of us
growing together sneak up on me
at times — unexpected. I still love him.
I do. I wonder if he knows this.
Should I tell him?

Originally published in soliloque via Medium.