by andrea peters
Thursday, May 13, 2004
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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Please note this is a work of fiction.
Not of some unknown villain.
Hiding behind my bedroom door.
Oh how I yearn that be the truth!
But Itís not.
Iím scared of the things I feel.
The things I think.
I have no measuring stick for the turmoil in my heart.
I cannot even bear to think about the consequences of thinking aboutÖ
Us? There is no Us.
I know that.
But I donít think my heart does.
It must. I think.
I will it to.
So I answered you the best way I could.
My Dear Friend.
It really was not a patronizing phrase,
It was from my heart, tempered by my
What better way to express what I must feel?
The way I have to feel.
For the other is inconceivable.
Do you hate me?
I know you say you donít and yetÖ
If I were you,
I think perhaps
I think I do.
For the way I feel.
If I would allow myself to feel.
But I must not.
I heard your words as you wrote them,
I heard the words as you spoke them.
Your voice was in my mind,
As I read them.
That tortured me.
I wanted to say ĎStop!í,
When you said you would entomb our bond.
But then again we have no bond.
Yes. We have no bond.
I can sit here and wait.
I can wait for tomorrow.
I will wait for tomorrow.
I will wait for the next day too.
Perhaps tomorrow I will be able to express clearly
What I cannot tell you.
Or the next day I will tell you what I cannot say.
Or perhaps the world will end
And then I wouldnít have toÖ.
Tell me. I mean you.
What I feel.
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|Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader)
|Excellent! So open and free flowing which although some may say is not good...really is! :O)
|Reviewed by Linda Hill
|Andrew, this is exceptional writing.
You have the talent to take the reader
with you thru your verses and feel what
you felt as you write them. Awesome