It’s funny, how much time one can spend trying to analyze feelings away. Trying to find logic and reason in something, that, by definition, defies it.
Trying to define something, that didn’t need defining before.
But now, you’re left wondering: what the hell was that? Were you the only one who felt the connection? Was it all just in your head?
Two broken people, each damaged by their past, handing each other tiny little pieces of themselves. Painfully aware that any one of those pieces could be used as a weapon.
You can’t shake the feeling that you were actually building something special, something real. And that is scary. Because that something real, is something you refused to believe existed.
And you wonder, have you been the only one afraid of what that mosaic of pieces could have become? Or was the other side just as afraid?
And just not willing or able to admit that this could actually have become something real. Out of fear and mistrust. Because it was easier to hide behind the walls they have built out of necessity, than to take the step and trust. And believe that this could be real.
And now you stand there, bleeding hands full of tiny shards of glass. Wondering if they’re the beginning of a mosaic, or just the broken remnants of a mirror.
You realize you’re still holding out hope, some part of you just can’t let go.
Caught in an inner battle between hope that feels unreasonable and the harsh reality of logical pragmatism.
Hoping that it wasn’t just in your head, an image in a mirror.
Waiting for something—anything—when a simple ‘hey’ would have been enough.
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