All I have ever wanted since I have been graced by the song and dance and warmth of your heart is for you to be happy. And over the years of our waltz through this weary life this did not change.
If I could bottle all the joys in the world and give them to you now, I would just to catch a glimpse of your pearly whites. And if the birds could hear the whispers of my heart they would leave their trees, nests and the branches that they perch on to fly with me.
I made you my home.
Your words would calm the torrential seas in my heart, and you would take my sadness and make it yours. I wanted to do the same for you so I bared my soul in hopes you would let me in these walls you have built. Let me share your burdens as you have done for me. “How is it you can bear so much by yourself?”, I would ask myself.
Was it selfish of me to think that I could possibly be the person to grant you happiness?
The choice to love you was mine. You needed only to love me back or not. But in your hesitation, I knew that I had lost my home, I was not the one you were looking for. This was not the tango to end the night.
You weren’t looking for anything.
Now I am a sailor without a harbour to return to.
A writer without his ink.
A painter without his brush.
A dancer without song.
These days the world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, without your words like nectar to comfort this weary life. What would be a more bitter pill to swallow than to accept that your happiness is now no longer intertwined with mine?
One day you may bear another’s name, another’s child and while I would be happy for you, it would be a lie to not say that I wished it was me.
Not him. Not another.
So, tell me why do I feel guilty?
It’s not selfish to want my own happiness.