Dead ends and fantasies

I seem to have somehow walked myself straight into

another dead end

well, maybe not straight

It’s been meandering.

Reversing.

Back and forth.

But I am where I am.

So what does it matter how I got here,

really?

And I find myself tied around you

as you carefully untangle yourself from me.

Setting off on a journey to find yourself

alone.

So here we go again

we’ll try to etch out a different future

And this time

we’ll call it friends.

So we’ll say

Let’s stay apart.

And I’ll mark my boundaries, state my terms

Fantasise that speaking words equates to lessons learned.

And I’ll say I need to define my space.

Draw a hard line

around the shape of you

that I know

my heart and body

will continuously undermine.

I’ll say that this is the end for me

That I need alone, to be alone

I can’t keep sending my heart and head

in opposite directions,

expecting to find home.

Claiming I’m searching for answers

Then redefining end to mean a future of fresh chances.

Because

Staying silent

until you speak for both of us

isn’t the same as being nonchalant

casual

unfazed.

Kidding myself

that I’m not dithering here

waiting for a change.

Hearing maybes

as guarantees.

So I will mark these boundaries

But

it seems

even when I’ve heard

my own words clearly define an end

I’ll leave my heart tied loosely around you

in case

you change your mind.

I’ll be monogamous

and call it single,

as if they were the same.

Because

people like you are fucking hard to find.

So how do I recognise that what we’re doing is the right thing

and risk leaving the right thing behind?

Because

there’s something in you

that I’d been looking for

without knowing, without trying

And it’s such a fucking eye roll

that I’d find it at the wrong time.