Member-only story
My Heart Grows Anxious and Wishful
Prose Poetry
The first sigh lingers like a glaze over my senses.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. My heartbeat sounds like the rush of waves in my ears, and it’s a lonely song that takes its cue from you, you, you.
I can steal all the glances at you I want, but you’re trapped in your own little world. How do I free you? Where is the door of the cage, and can I be the one to coax you out of self-made captivity?
But no — you’re cooing your own song to the hum of a hundred heartbreaks as you remain oblivious to anything I can offer.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The rain weaves its own melody right now, but we’re not even caught awkward under the same umbrella. You stay in your space, and I languish in mine while I wonder just what words could draw you out and make you believe in trusting again.
The cage door is unlocked, but you won’t go, go, go.
The green light stays, but you’re stopped on red, red, red.
Oh, I’m not a long-ago bard who can wax poetic on anything and everything. Poetry sounds like witless banter from my lips. I could try to mimic the greats, but all I would do is make you believe romance is dead.
