i like to take walks at night,
pausing every now and then,
stopping to look into open windows as I pass along.
i like to imagine what is being said
and what is left unspoken.
i then wonder what i’m not saying.
“i really do love you.”
“why can’t you love me back.”
‘i think you deserve better than him.”
“does he hurt you? i worry that he hurts you.”
why don’t i say those things?
i think it’s fear–
the fear of being right,
the fear of not knowing how you’ll respond,
the fear of knowing i could do more
the fear of knowing that you think so too.


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