fall /

the unspoken words that were left unsaid, left me as bewildered as a directionless arrowhead. who am I to you, and who, truly, are you? You see, life has us tangled up in threads that are far apart, and I am so afraid that something might snap anytime.

If I am a pretty portrait hanging by the exhibition door, then perhaps you are a mirror reflecting, beckoning me, to another realm. The magnetic field around us slows the gravitational pulls of the rest, and for the fleeting moment, there could have been a teleportation.

And as I looked for your outreached hand, and you waited for my leap, the moment was ephemeral.

Then, nothing.

Either the threads that held us tore, or the writer thought we’ll be a bore. Though my painted arch matches your rectangular frame, our different purposes did not belong in the same game.

I looked at you longingly, my reflection an evidence of my confusion. Your hopes and adoration hang by the thread, and I thought… and thought.

_________________________________________________

If I am the one you want,

then maybe I am not

the one you need.