3 am now. She keeps trying to get me to say the words.
As I read her letter on the screen I can’t help but hide
Is this what I am afraid of?
Do I run like a dog with my tail between my legs?
Is this what I fear?
She said it before, planting her beliefs in my head,
Taunting me in such a way you couldn’t believe there was any sincerity in what she said
So why am I writing about what couldn’t be real.
What I have feared for so long…
Am I finding truth in the world of a girl who believes in fairytales?
Or am I trying to leap from a reality that keeps me chained to it
Is this what I am afraid?
For being so dynamic my legs seem glued to this cliff
The one thing that stands above the unknown.
Could this be what I fear?
My father suffers from paranoia.
The gift from my mother and his ex wife
But how much of it could be irrational and insecure?
When he too has lived a rather obscene life…
Is it that I don’t want to believe in her words?
Is it that I honestly can’t feel what her sentences and phrases define?
Or that my lack of belief creates a lack of existence
A thus a lack of belonging or the right to call anyone mine.
Should I write to her of my fears?
And try to grasp what I am afraid of?
Perhaps for once agree with her logic and theories?
To which I deny with a great passion no matter what our subject may be.
My mind goes into an ocean
With all the answers and my concentration lost at raging sea.
Could I simply choose not listen to what she says
And simply try to enjoy what I have to read.
Still a seed has been planted in my head
Like it has many times before,
But my silence shall become the key
That will lock tightly this heavy door.
“Hey Dorian, no I am fine… what are you talking about? Nope .he’s gone….”
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