I guess there comes in a time in life when you need to just be honest with yourself for a minute, cut through all the lies and all the bullshit and just lay it all on the line. Because if you don't, you're going to lose. And you're going to lose more than just respect, and attention, you're going to lose him. Maybe it's not even about him, maybe it's the part of you that you'll lose too that matters the most here. The truth is that you won't even know what's at stake until it's already gone. And the risk is overwhelming, breathtaking, heart-wrenching. And the question is simple, but simple only in the structured sense because so much goes in to the answer.
What do you want?
It's simple. In structure. And you're still speechless as a result. You want it all. You want him and you want you both together and you want this life that you see lived everyday. You want the house and the white picket fence and the pair of dogs playing behind it. You want the little girl... and boy... and maybe even one more to be playing in the treehouse that he builds for them. The treehouse that you built together. And you want to climb in to bed each night next to him, holding him and listening to his heartbeat. You want to tackle the world together with him, and you want to build this life that you have been conditioned to dream of. And you wanna scream all of this at him as he stands there trying to convince you for some reason that he isn't enough, that you don't want him, that you deserve more. And it dawns on you that you know the answer to his question, even if it isn't the question that he originally posed.
You want this to be enough.
He stops talking and looks confused, like you're telling him that you've had enough, that you really are done. And his face falls in a way that you have not yet seen. The look of disappointment is shattering, breaking the moment into a thousand pieces at your feet. And for the first time you realize something. Words are not enough. This is hard for you. Almost impossible to understand. How can there not be words, how can the poet not even make sense of this world for him? But you're not a poet anymore. You're not a writer anymore. You aren't me anymore. We are separate. I am dying. Because I realize it too. The words will never be enough.
"I want this. I want you. And I want it to be enough. Forever. And always." ... and then silently...again.
And these words frighten and terrify, not because you remember, but because you mean it. You love him. He is the man in your dreams, he's at the end of the aisle, he's holding your precious child, he's singing to you in the car, and asking you to dance. He's... everything. He is your world now.
With this comes consequence. The truth is never quite as easy as one would hope, because humans are not immune to fear. Writers are, thank god, but not humans. I can see it in your eyes, and reflected unknowingly in your heart. You love him so much that it could kill you, and you know this. The lightbulb just brightened and I could see it in your eyes. You're calculating... the distance it will take, the amount of miles that will be sufficient to escape.
How far will you have to run?
And will he have the courage to follow?
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