It hurts to wait for her, and yet you find yourself still waiting, even though one of the narratives you're working on says you are learning how to let her go. The second narrative says your heart is a dog waiting in the window, certain that his owner will return any minute now, because doubt is not in the nature of a dog.
You text her after a few weeks of being careful not to initiate any contact. It sets you all the way back. Then you respond to her brief answer, and now you wait for more, and then hurt when it is not forthcoming. Maybe this is practice, how your heart comes to learn.
She is not love.
She is a woman, a human being, hungry and lost like all the others.
She is not your love.
Your love is your own, right here, to be given as you wish.
She is not your heart.
Your heart is your own slippery burden,
You text her after a few weeks of being careful not to initiate any contact. It sets you all the way back. Then you respond to her brief answer, and now you wait for more, and then hurt when it is not forthcoming. Maybe this is practice, how your heart comes to learn.
She is not love.
She is a woman, a human being, hungry and lost like all the others.
She is not your love.
Your love is your own, right here, to be given as you wish.
She is not your heart.
Your heart is your own slippery burden,
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