Honesty

This might be the only place that I am heard,

and that is with the assumption that you are listening.

In my fantasies, you are rapt with attention,

tuned in to my  transmission.

How it does feel to be an aching body behind a screen.

I have been writing for you all these years,

how does that feel?

Settling for the possibility of being seen,

rather than really being seen,

for I am a coward.

I settle into the fantasy,

because in my fantasies

all of my dreams come true.

Is it that I am getting older,

or going through something?

Should I push myself to go out dancing

late Friday nights?

Should I push myself to do more than write here to you,

the phantom of my cyber-dreams.

Here, you do not touch me,

or ask me questions.

You do not want to have my child,

or meet my family.

Here, I am in love with the thought of you.

I wonder if someday I will need more.

I wonder if this is me needing more.

Do I let myself be…or do I push myself?

I fear regretting not going to these things

when I’m older looking back.

My worst nightmare is sitting alone,

aching somewhere, wailing:

“Missed opportunities,

missed OPPORTUNITIES,

SO. MANY. MISSED. OPPORTUNITIES.”

 

 

 

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