Nothing

I often wondered why you would ask the same questions
over and over.

What do you want? Do you know what you want?

Could you taste the lies on my lips?
Or perhaps it was the stench of omission
that hung heavy in the air?
Either way, you knew I was hiding.
So you asked.
Repeatedly.
Until you didn’t ask again.

Chances that slipped through hands too unsure to take them.

Words that did not belong to me filled the gulf between us,
while the truth was held hostage by my own fear;
the fear that my happiness depended on you.

What do you want? Do you know what you want?

 Darling, I knew.  And you knew it too.  It was there,
between every line I spoke.
Why did I have to say it out loud?

Time and again my reply, generic and safe,
was limited to what I thought was possible;
to what I thought you would be to me;

…limited to what I thought I was worth.

There’s no coincidence that I ended up with
nothing.

– k.w

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