There were times we talked when it seemed like we were the best of friends, and times were tempting me to say something more. I held it in and hid it deeply because there is always a fear of never being able to belong.
The past had served heaps of trouble; thick enough, one would need a shovel to excavate. Being alone became a habit, and some ways are tough like steel, nearly impossible to break. I would listen to love songs and sing along, only imagining what might have been. Romances I avoided when I read, cause passion, was not something to arouse. But the days wore and the years grew longer.
There was no reason to complain. I have ever been adept at entertaining myself, busy is not hard when you are multidimensionally creative. I kept working and was content.
Content, until I would speak to him again. Then I wanted it all.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan