Her Face To Face

Her face, to face;

I fear what he loves. 

I keep seeing her face everywhere. I want to talk to her, maybe once. Or Maybe twice.

I keep seeing her smile.

I keep tormenting myself with her image and her style.

I have a lot of what-ifs built and whatnots stacked. Anything that should be encouraging and motivating seem to have a lopsided effect on my self-esteem.

I re-read her words to make sense of anything hidden between the lines, to see if I can relate, to see if I can recognise, to see if I relapse or restart.

In my head, I keep building her character and my fears. It’s a direct proportion of landslide

I keep creating.

Maybe I could join her organization or maybe her club.

Maybe I could connect through acquaintances or maybe through common interest?

I lay awake some nights unknowingly wandering into thoughts I had suppressed;

What if she wants to come back?

What if she is waiting to run home?

What if she’s missing the hug?

What if she awaits the first move? 

I seem to lose sleep over the simplest of things when it comes to her. 

I ignore that topic, hide it between my books, cover it with my blanket and deny any feelings but isn’t love nothing without a tsunami of insecurity first? 

Would it reduce if I faced my fear?

Met her?

Ran into her?

Spoke to her?

Swallowed my feelings?

What would I say?

How would I start that conversation?

Would I be asking her for something she values or something that wasn’t hers to start with?

How would I ever get myself to ask that off of her?

How could I invade personal space and boundaries?

Would that be over stepping or plain old dreaming?

Would I be awakening something that’s already dead or something that’s waiting for an alarm?

Would I be rekindling, I fear as a shiver runs down my spine with sweat drops all over my face.

My heart knows no bounds, not out of joy but it’s not accustomed to such heights of fear and my gut tingles with warning sighs every few minutes which I ferociously brush off. I turn blind to all red flags and keep going downhill. I wonder all this quite frequently- more than the healthy standards.  

Some days I succumb to thinking maybe if I wait long enough for him, maybe then he’d settle for me?

Or maybe if I could deny love from others- something sometimes I genuinely don’t think I deserve.

Maybe I could continue destroying all healthy relationships and he’d get the hint? Those days, my better judgement loses the wheel. Maybe if I didn’t have such esteem or self-respect.

Maybe if I turned down all other offers, universe would do me one solid?

Maybe I should wait a bit longer, cause he is worth the wait and right there, I often lose sight and hold of reality.

How does closure taste to others? Like blocklist or unanswered calls? Is that the popular choice of the main course or does it belong with a series of night weeps with a lingering taste of defeat? Maybe with packing and leaving for dessert? Or spoiling friendship made just like a cherry on top?

I wonder what she’d say to all this, for she’s a person of words and a woman of content.