Confessions

I never wanted to walk away

I still had so much to confess

Confession shrouded by shame

Shame to confess that I felt safest around you

Shame to confess that when I read a book I always start with the last page

 

I always read the last page

I always know the end before the beginning

I always prepare for the end

Always

Until you

With you I wanted no end

I decided when I first met you there was no last page to read

There was no stop because a stop would imply a list of lasts

The last kiss, the last embrace, the last echo of your laughter

No, there would be no lasts

 

I begged the stars to align our fate to form a forever

And when my begging couldn’t bend the existence of fate, I created my own

I engulfed myself in the burning fire of what could be

The scorching warmth of what ifs

All almost enough to keep out the coldness of growing distance

The freezing realization of your prolonged silences

The cold confession of your good bye

Suddenly the last page of our story began to appear, faint at first

Transparent and barely legible, kept at a distance with your bargains to keep me

You spoke with the warmth of what ifs

 

What if we tried to make this work, what if I remained behind as you moved forward

What if, what if that’s not what I wanted, what if that wasn’t enough

But what if it was

The end was knocking on your door, I could hear the deafening thuds as you spoke

I let it in as I walked myself out

As our final page was marked with the fated words

The end

 

I still have our last page folded at the top right corner, marked to conveniently revisit

Because I never confessed

I never wanted to walk away