Scared

I wrote you another letter this morning. In the unlikely event that you read it, you would have known with absolute certainty that it was for you, and you would have known it was from me. I was shivering after I posted it. I wanted so badly for you to see it, but…

I got scared. I chickened out. After it stewed for only a couple of hours, I deleted it.

And you know what, I think it's for the best. I want so very badly for you to be a much, much bigger part of my life. So badly it physically hurts. But you cannot be. There is no road from here to there that doesn't pass through deserts of pain, the destruction of the lives we each have, torment and confusion for the children we are responsible for.

And that's if you're even interested, which, let's face it, you probably aren't.

So, I'm going to try (again) to put it in a little box on the shelf and hope it goes away. Keep trying to drown it every night so that I might sleep again someday. Try to be as normal as I can be when I do inevitably run into you on your evening walks. And try to convince myself that, while I might not be getting what I want, I already have what I need.

I'm sorry to bother you.