From Afar

At first, it was grief. The searing, burning flesh of grief, that lived in me for months, eating away at my days.
Then, it became regret, which sat heavy on my chest and made me suck air through my teeth, begging for release from my mistakes.
And then, I had hope. Crazy, technicolor hope when I prayed and wished and dreamed for you...although always, from afar.
And then grief would come a-knocking and I would begin again my pathetic cycle of loving you and missing you, always, from afar.
Every day speculating what you might think of this, what you might do with that, remembering every glorious moment with you and then feeling the bitter blade of my own knife slicing into my heart.

Well, I've been in this rainbow-hazy hopefulness for weeks and weeks but it stings like acid down my throat when I steal the words you speak to me because they aren't mine to hear. I don't deserve them. But I do deserve happiness. And not the happiness that comes from the irrational blood vessels that threaten to burst when you walk into the room or from the little bumps that appear on my skin and spread like a Californian wildfire when you glance at me sideways.

After all this time, I can now say that I deserve happiness from a real embrace, from a corporal kiss, not memories. And I can have that. Right now.

But I'm so, damned scared to let go of my love for you and surrender to the arms of another.