bystander

I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to be inside your head. To see what you see. To hear my “proclamations” from the outside in. I know what I mean when I say them to you, but I see now, exactly how you could re-interpret them in so many different ways. The difficulty was, and still is, getting a grasp on how to say things more simply. To help you along to hear things more clearly. Not to read too much into it. To take everything at face value. To understand that there isn’t a hidden agenda. Not to assume too much. To erase the expectations you seemed to think hung over you like a cloud.

Knowing what I know about you makes it difficult to be a bystander. Having been close to you, even for a split second, drives me to your doorstep. Banging on the door to be let in again. Hopeful that I could find the key, the one that I clutched so briefly. The one you don’t think belongs to me. That shiny thing beneath the tarnish and scratches built up through years of wear and tear. Someone has to hold it for you from time to time. Open the door so you can walk past the threshold. Remind you to leave the light on. So you can arrive safely. Without feeling your way in the dark. Welcoming you home.