Maybe Not

as she sat there reading, it suddenly dawned on her. like a ray of overwhelming light to the unwelcoming eye. she would never be the protagonist in this story. the heroine in his storybook. the recipient neglecting a return to sender.

for many reasons she was still unsure of why.

maybe she wasn't broken enough. maybe she gave in too much, give parts of herself up too soon.

the push and pull made the inconsequential matter more than she wanted to admit… and in that moment she understood that the same hurt he experienced from others, was the same thing he was doing to her.

and in that she realized he was right. she really didn’t know this other person. couldn’t know someone unwilling to open up the torn pages that rendered his broken heart, or hers for that matter.

and maybe that thought made her reconsider, consider whether this was worth investing… effort, emotion, her heart into? maybe he would never share those parts of his past. maybe (for him), that was the past, and as far as he was concerned, not worth knowing. but maybe (for her) it was. maybe for as much as he gave, she would always know that he was just like the others, always hiding, afraid to give in, give it all… Let Go.

and no matter how much she cared for him, that realization would play like an afterthought…. of something missing… always lingering in the furthest most regions of her limbic system, like innate notion of a frown, always there, but never here.