Asking, Quietly

Written February 22, 2010

A cloud of questions
hangs low overhead.
What’s stopping me
from asking?

I struggle to step softly.
I’m not accustomed
to these inhibitions.

Your opinion
matters to me.

What do you think of me?

I think highly of you.

I didn’t plan
to fall for you.

Now I replay
every memory,
wondering
about your motives.

Yesterday,
or yesteryear,
what was on your mind?

I’m hoping
I haven’t missed my time,
if I ever occupied your thoughts.

I don’t regret
anything I’ve done,
but I would return
to do it all better,
if I knew.

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