"Simple Gestures"

A hand
reaching for another and holding it tight--
such a simple gesture,

and yet...

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't break free from the chains
my past placed around my hands,
my lips,
my heart.

I wanted to grasp your hand in mine,
to entwine our fingers
and feel your warmth coursing through me,
melting the icy prison I can't escape.

I wanted to say the words,
to whisper them against your lips
and release the agony of emotions never told
with each and every kiss.

I wanted to shine the light of your smile
into the darkest corners of my barely beating heart,
and yet....
and yet....

And yet.

I have a confession.

I'm weak. I'm weary. I'm broken.

I am human.

I have to repeat this to myself almost daily. I have to constantly remind myself that I don't love you anymore, lest I forget and fall victim to that old habit. You see, I'm in the process of convincing myself that in reality, I never did love you. That seems easier in the end than dealing with the alternative--that I loved you fully and helplessly. I put pictures of you out of sight, hoping to forget. I busy myself with my new life here, working a lot, spending time with friends, and just trying my best not to leave room for missing you...for loving you.

And yet, I am human. A while back, after stumbling across a photograph, I did something I promised myself I wouldn't do: I wrote you a letter. I knew what would happen. I knew you wouldn't respond. I was right. Even as I apologized for whatever imaginary thing I did or didn't do to make you hurt me, I knew I wouldn't get a response. But my weakness pushed me forward nonetheless. I don't know if you ever even read my letter. I don't know if you even have that address anymore, but either way, it was my attempt at a proper goodbye, one I was robbed of that night you turned away from me without a word.

Perhaps it was a mistake to write that letter. Perhaps I only caused myself more pain by doing so, since each time, I open my mail and see no letter from you, the shattered remnants of my time with you slice away at my already fractured heart.

Yes, perhaps it was a mistake.

But despite that, despite all that happened, despite how horrible it would have been for my soul to stay with you--to be with you....I don't regret it. I don't regret meeting you, becoming your friend. But falling for you? Therein lies my mistake....my most perfect mistake.

I am praying that writing that letter will free me from you eventually, that your lack of response will allow me to escape the ghost of you that has been haunting me since the day I left.

Yes, I am weak. I am weary. I am broken.

But I am human. And that means I can be put back together again. Someday.