a visit to the museum

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by equilivebrium

by equilivebrium

a subject of my marvel and curiosity,
love and affection has always been that
   way for me.
an art piece I like to observe, even stare
   at—face-to-face.
but like a visitor in a museum, I always find
   myself walking away, leaving it behind as
   it stays—

lingering still, but I choose to push it further
   down—hoping that the depths of my self
   that I still don't understand would bury
   it,
for even if I can choose to embrace it—I
   would rather not.
not with these claws of deep-rooted fears
   still buried deep in my core.
not with these sands still filled with
   prehistoric marks that the waves still
   can't seem to erase—can't seem to wash
   off-shore.

thus, I walked away.
maybe the art gallery would close one day.
or maybe it would wait.
or maybe I wouldn't come back, who would
know what it has in store for us—this
entity they call fate?