Not A Poem

I’m looking for a clever string of words to portray how sad I am that I can’t be with you. How sad I am that to ever pursue that dream I would have to hurt others to get out of the tangled web that is my life. How sad I am that if I were to untangle myself and make the journey to your doorstep, that not only would you close the door in my face, but also I would lose the most meaningful friendship I have ever had.

No string of words is imperfect enough to describe you. Because a perfect poetic portrait to describe our long lasting relationship would not be an accurate one. No string of words is descriptive enough to portray the heartache and pain I have survived to make as little progress as I have. No string of words could paint a picture vivid enough to display how undeserving I am of someone as beautiful and witty and sought after as you.

I’m looking for an artistic string of words to put my pain into perspective as I reflect on the years of doubt and cover-ups. Of Freudian slips, of complimenting too much, of wondering if you’re on to me because you were the first to start this mess and the first one to end it. The only one to end it, as I’m still stuck shoulders deep in the quick sand of your spirit—the poison of your radiant personality. No string of words could create a concept capable of explaining you. Your hair color, your button nose, the feeling you give me when we simply make eye contact. No string of words could do you justice.

So I won’t write one.