You say you're close, but I can't feel your embrace.
You say you delight over me, but I can't see your smile.
You say your love is everlasting, but I don't feel your presence.
If I am too small to reach you, and you won't pick me up, then why wouldn't I feel orphaned, widowed and estranged?
Like a baby in a crib, crying to be held and comforted and loved, whose parents turn their backs and walk away, she knows no comfort.
If what I experience of you is fleeting then how can you expect me to know closeness?
How can you expect me to know love or kindness or hope when there's always something between me and you, or even me and someone else?
Something that cannot be easily breached?
Something few dare attempt to breach or even approach?
Something dark and fierce and cold.
It has a name. Mistrust.
How can I know love or hope or faith if I cannot be touched?
How can I be captivating or beautiful or anything good if I am not pursued? Embraced?
The beautiful ones, the captivating ones, the good ones...they are pursued and embraced.
They are wanted.
I don't really know what that's like.
I don't recognize it.
It is a glamour.
It promises delight and delivers emptiness.
I know orphaned.
You say, "I love you."
I hear nails screeching down a chalkboard, fraying the senses.
You say, "You are precious to me."
I hear words, words, words wordswordswordsWORDS...
You say, "Trust me."
I say, "Why should I? How can I? I don't know how..."
You say, "Let me show you."
I say, "Go for it..."