I am willing to wait as long as it takes. I don't mind so much, this being alone, despite what my bathtub might tell you about it. That I wish I could right my wrongs and be better for it. What if I could take it all back, or move it all forward, what then? What if I told you I am sorry for the things I've done, or didn't do, the things I've yet to; would you believe me?
And what if I told you I despise my own tendency to keep people at arm's length, that I've been battling it for years, that I often run far and fast from the people I want closest to me. Or that I am not afraid of dying alone, but rather terrified of becoming bitter about it. Or that I've never meant to live my life slightly askance, all the while believing in a dream I know to be real but that I'm too afraid to touch. Would you find me there? Would you know?
Would you crush me with such knowledge, or hold my still beating heart in the quiet hollows of your open palms?