Whether it's worth to whisper your name.

I don’t have the patience
to tolerate the pacing minutes of your absence.
I don’t have the virtue
to look at the past and cherish it’s details.
But I do have hope,
that eventually I will find comfort in the unknown.

I’ve come to realize late at night,
when my dreams betray my will
and suavely wander towards your territory;
that I miss you. I awake astounded as I recall
with precision the exact fragrance that emanates
from your alluring neck.
And I can’t help but my sigh
In pathetic ecstasy.

I despise this solitude. In this vast desert I
own no corners to hide from your haunting smile.
While your gaze creeps up at me in unexpected places,
I’m overwhelmed with a deep sense of agoraphobia.
And I despise you for that.

I hate you the most because I’ve hurt you.
That wound I’ve left where my
lips found not content.
But became extenuated with every edge of your existence.
I feel guilt.
And the overwhelming desire to apologize.
Too plead my case.
And perhaps hear a whisper of relief, a sigh of yearning, a kiss
upon my lips.
Nonetheless, I’m too much of coward to wait and see the outcome
of this flipping coin.

I fear the obscurity of your decision
ominous by your deadly silence.
I fear your hatred, I fear rejection.
Thus I despise you intensely.

But never before have I wandered to the
delicate line of love and hate. I wish not to hate you,
I do not love you. I want one thing: love me intensely
and I’ll be with you shrouded beneath your arms.

But if this eyelash
does not merit its superstition, let me forget you forever and
recover from this blank spot in destiny’s scroll.

I need to let you go. For it is worthless to whisper your name.