blurry.

am i the only one not speaking truths in to existence,
or are there things you’re choosing not to say…
rather, allowing them to roll around deep within,
consume you,
fill you up,
as satisfying as a death row meal

perhaps the satisfaction of imagining the outcome
of breathing life to these…
incomprehensible feelings
is much safer,
more comfortable
than the boundless unknown of actually allowing them to spill off my tongue.

maybe my attachment is not to you after all,
or even the you i’ve fabricated in my mind,
but to the safety created
by imagining you.

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