Getting On My Tippy Toes

It makes me sad sometimes. To think about it. Is it really so hard? I want an answer, any answer would be better than be trapped here as a thirsty stranded person chasing after a mirage of an oasis. Tell me to my face, look in my eyes, that there is no hope at all. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Then I can really get on the path to self-healing. As of now, I have not gotten a yes or a no. Still stuck in that tunnel, looking for the light, not knowing if I'm going backwards, upside down, or forward. I hope. I wished, but I've stopped wishing. Now is not the time to clasp my hands together and wish for a tomorrow with you. If I was still wishing, I would be wishing to know right now.

Do you feel anything? Anything at all? Do you even care? I'm hurt and I want to know. If nothing had ever happened, maybe I wouldn't be in such a dejected state of mind. Maybe I wouldn't have to hope because the fire hadn't been lit yet. You say, I can tell you anything, but I can't tell you everything. What are the consequences of telling you my feelings now? Would you look away? You tell me that you would answer me another day, another time, another place but this one. I can wait, of course I can, but with every day that passes, there's just stored up emotions from the day before.

I type, I delete, I change the topic. Every single time.