When I'm with you, the clichéd meanderings of my heart fix upon a signpost the simplest explanation for all to see: that loving you has forever been my quiet dignity, and terrifying reality. Saying so could mean the end of us, however we may be; but it's getting harder now since the more I think, the more I try to understand my reasons for never saying anything.
Afraid of it leading to the boneyard, beyond my ability to retrieve. Afraid of my intentions and what they're hiding from me. Afraid that through all the years we've come, the roads between us were never really the problem.
But here I sit, surrendered to my heart, scribbling its thoughts before my mind rips them apart.
And if all it took was a single look, or maybe two or three; a single word, or hours and hours of talking; if I could spell it out plain and clear,
My heart speaks loudly, and Love is the only word I hear.
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