Life Support

There’s something about adding “my” before a verb or noun that makes my heart so giddy.

My love, my silly boy.

It’s a welcoming feeling, such a personal connection when you’re able to call one

Your own. 

For, in a world where I feel as though I belong to everyone except myself,

It’s comforting to think there’s someone out there I’m able to call my very own. 

Just a short while ago was the night I confessed my feelings for you in the form of a poem I Spent the weekend night writing.

Taken with a grateful heart and appreciation

You accepted my poem

Never addressing the words I cried over and have been reflecting on

Ever sense. 

The unknown feelings of your heart, 

Ultimately, 

Has led us to the very spot we stand now:

A simple room one could identify as belonging to a hospital,

You and I, across from one another, 

The only division between our heavy bodies and weighted minds 

Being my feelings for you,

So vulnerably laid out for your consumption, 

Connected to life support.

Deployed as a measure to buy you time. 

Little do you know,

However,

Your time has fallen short. 

For my overthinking mind has mistaken your delayed response as 

A flatline of your reciprocated feelings. 

The plug of hope connecting to what little feelings are left to the overwhelmed outlet in hand, 

I glance up at your confused eyes, 

Allowing them to give me butterflies one last time.

Returning your expression with a soft smile and a blush so faint you’d brush it off as a little Breeze gifting me the hug you never did,

I give the cord a gentle tug,

Disconnecting the “my” from any old or new verbs that may have come,

Returning my regard for you back to nothing more than a friendly face 

That’s pleasant to see at the end of a dismal day. 

- Hillary Deschamps