Excerpts I'll Never Tell

Metaphysical being, please.

I hate that I'm lying here late at night wanting to talk to you again. I know it's out of the question.

I noticed you deleted your comment. I wish you hadn't; it makes me feel like you regret it. No one else looks between the pages other than the few outliers of random poets that are curious.

It makes you wonder when they're reading all these shorts what they think, each one progressively getting more mature but still leaving an impact. I felt relief today, but oh God, the anxiety. And I'm not usually an anxiety-ridden person.

Talking to you sometimes feels like talking to an extension of myself. I hope that I don't cross a line, writing yet another short (while I struggle to still make it poetic).

I just wanted to put it out there how I feel, and while now it will always feel like I'm directly writing to you, I will still somehow find ways to write about the good, bad, and ugly that I'm destined to feel in this lifetime.

Sometimes I wish I could live multiple lives, each within a different verse-the safe option. But, in which is it that I will genuinely be hopelessly happy and effortlessly in it?

I roll over and lay on my stomach to prevent yet another stomachache. I hope when I dream tonight, I get an answer. Whatever metaphysical being there is- I think I deserve to know.

1...2...3 counting relentlessly at the time that goes by to a day that I can feel peace with the one I know that will fight for me no matter the cost.

Sincerely,
the hopeless romantic x