Fatalism

And so it seems, I find myself here again and again,

never too far away and always close to my heart.

I often ponder the implications of settling,

where I know I can make myself be happy

with what I've got. But is it enough?

Is it ever enough? Am I selfish for wanting more?

Especially when I know the capacity for more is out there.
I held it once, but I let it slip. Now I lay sleepless,

knowing what's out there, what could be.

I'm not bitter, I'm not helpless.

I know it in all likelihood cannot be,

yet I still hold onto a thread.

The thread you dangle in front of me,

too thin to hang on. At least for now.

That thread obscures my vision, blurs everything else

around me. I'm ok with it for now.

I don't think it is punishment, even if I do deserve it.

And I'll unspool it for as long as it unravels

coming back to it at the expense of anybody

who would otherwise get in the way. Sorry in advance.

If and when that time comes back our way,

I don't know that I won't be in such limbo,

hurting the innocent, defending myself, proving to you

that I didn't go too far in the meantime.

Would I rather live alone and write of it,

or make somebody else happy and trap the demons

that haunt me everytime I leave your house, hang up the phone,

turn away and not know when I'll see you again?

You torture my soul, but I'll allow it.

Wanting me there in some ways, but only in some.

If that is the extent of us, I will take it.

Because I dare not choose when I don't have choice.

Someday. Someday. Someday.

I'll wait for you.