Time carries on. It inevitably changes things. Us. Time is history … moving. We can fight the motion, but we can never keep up with the result. But moving on without a struggle offends human nature. It’s so … defeatist.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m on the brink,
I remember how I used to think”
“Would you if I asked?” she queries me.
She wants to know what I’m thinking these days. Where I’m at. Really, where I’m going.
“If you texted me more often, you could find things out,” I say.
“I don’t like to ask”. She infers, “Would I tell her the truth?”
“Yes, I only want to see a peek
But if …
You skirt the questions … I’ll just be weak”
Where once there were no secrets there is now caution and timidity and the fear of seeming weak or needy. Instead of brilliant clarity in the relationship, there now are only shadows. Shadows which hide, grey shadings to mask feelings. An illusory mist to dampen and lubricate previously sharp emotions. A veil concealing the feared imperfections.
While dormant, the intensity is there yet. She fears it. I don’t know whether I should get closer. Or go away.
‘No, it won’t ever be like before
Not now …
The Dark craves always for even more”