Afraid.

I pick the pen to write,
my fingers run over the keyboards,
I go back in time, jumping years back, to the
the first moment I saw you, and retrace myself - to the present.
I am keeping drafts of letters, saved in my archives, reading and rereading every word,
am I sincere? Are any of those words true?
Should I send you those or let the words drown me?

Contents of my pages.

Everyone tells me, "it's gonna be fine",
but they have no answer.
Everyone tells me, "give it time",
but they have got no answer.
I've got advices on how everything has a tag,
on who deserves what and where should I draw a line,
on how should you be and what I shouldn't do.
I don't blame them, they are not here.
They didn't see us, they won't understand.
But you did, you said, you felt and stayed.
But now what?
I should keep hoping, that's all I can do,
but my friend, my love, I am weak.
I cannot even hope, without you.
They don't have any answers,
and I am running out of questions.

Effort.

My kingdom is on fire as I drown in Irish whisky,
Looking at our old photographs,
reading our old letters and my diary.
Every ounce that I spared, thinking or just flowing, they were true, I never preached,
but those were pure, under the solemn vows I made to gods I never believed,
I tried, I am trying.

But you, you left, walked away, left me
in a trail of my own disgust and in doubt
of my efforts, words, promises, love.

It's 3.42 AM, and I am still waiting, hoping
with my breath held in anticipation and wish.

And for what?

Just so you can forgive me.

My kingdom burns to the ground,
and I can't even laugh.