Time's Inventory

It is cruel, when there are things I wish I could say-- but time pockets them, 

I swore it to be safe keeping, a measured choice, and I would speak the sentences when it made more sense to 

I never got a chance to say them, and I doubt I ever will

The tightrope I walk between what we have and what I will lose should I take them out of storage,

so, I look at the decorated, meaningful and droopy language I was going to use with you 

In the beautiful, ornate box that lie within my heart, there it stays–and it may always be there 

I believed once that you may grow fonder of me, for all that we have in common 

For how many times I’ve made you laugh, smile, the way we can conversate, how much you claimed to admire me

Now I am groveling, and I’m not entirely sure what is true 

Did you mean any of it? How is it that I’ve come to care for you so much, and become so intrigued? 

Why do I have to sit in the house of the grandfather clock and pray that after so long, maybe just maybe it will chime and you will return my compassion? 

It baffles me how I know I could love you if you let me, I would fall for you so gracefully 

But with each tick and tick I hear of the cogs in that clockwork, I know, you do not want me 

I don’t possess whatever it is you desire, and it almost makes me want to apologize 

To feel for another without return, must be one of the greatest hardships we were given to endure