
I carry the weight of a thousand pillows against my stomach,
because that is what it feels like in the pit of me during the hour before I see you.
Every time.
I dream of moments I wish would happen,
imagining how they might unfold
good or bad.
My heart races with every flutter
when your warm touch finds my shoulder, my foot, or any part of me.
I cannot fathom how I am supposed to slowly process the moment your eyes lock onto mine
when I can barely control the pulsating beats of my heart
or the thoughts already racing through my head.
I couldn’t tremble the words out
because I feared the possibility
that the ending I had already imagined
might become real
if I dared to confess what I feel.
But I don’t want to hold myself back
from another possibility anymore,
regardless of all my careful reasoning
or the fear that comes with finally speaking
the truth of my feelings for you.
I only wish I had the strength to conquer that fear,
no matter how this could unfold;
whether beautifully or painfully
but especially if the answer turns out to be the one I fear
after I finally unfurl the map of my affection before you.
I wonder how I became so smitten
by the ambiguous acts of kindness
you have shown me again and again.
And I wonder why I keep locking myself
out of even the possibility of affection.
Is my fear of rejection
constricting my ability to weave the words
for everything I have been longing to say
everything I have been longing to feel?
I have tried to spread my feelings thin,
yet my heart has only widened
after every fleeting moment I get to spend with you.
I know I must eventually relinquish
these secret tides of devotion I have kept for you.
But when I finally let them reach the shore,
will I recover if your tides don’t rise to meet mine?








