You saw happiness (or the possibility of it) coming up on the horizon. And then you bolted.
Sorry too that now I must sit and watch you battle and not say a word.
In my dreams I whisper the truth of it.
I shake you, feel the bones of yr shoulders against the strength of my hands. I look you in the eye and very calmly say: ‘What are you doing? Why are you doing this?’
I want to see you move yrself towards happiness.
Stood at the race track with my five pound bet, the paper creased and crushed in my nervous palm. I hold it and will you on, but yr falling behind.
And the world watches as I screw up the slip and toss it behind me. They listen as I tell my friends ‘well, that’s that then. maybe next time’. Walk away.
And though I don’t look back I’m still willing you on. Because this race isn’t finished yet. And something in me, which still cares, runs over my flesh. I’m still rooting for you. And if I knew what it looked like, where inside of me it lived: I’d turn surgeon and cut it out.
But I’m not. I don’t. I can’t.
So I exhale and say it.
‘I like you. We could be happy. I know you like me’
I say it. Out loud.
And the world turns to stone.