Stirring Point

It’s what I haven’t said that steals the moisture from my mouth. Knowing you were there, waiting to hear the words you deserved, but not a syllable found the surface. A world of growth trapped behind pursed lips. Would it have killed me to be honest? To be open just once?

The quiet forced a wedge between us and your doubts and hesitations spilled into the gap. I summoned your fears with a selfish spell and they metastasized with oxygen. You tried swallowing another batch of my nonsense but this time it got stuck like a bone in the throat. Your eyes told me you were loyal to a fault; your body squirmed at the thought of another round of this. I was sunk cost and you knew it, but you’d invested so much time. You needed a moment of clarity the same way I needed an ounce of courage.

Without pressure, change is slow. You should’ve increased the pounds per square inch and made me writhe. Cowards respond to strength and I deserved a vice grip around the temples. First, we look for an exit, and if we’re trapped, we craft excuses. It’s only when our backs are against the wall that we offer a version of truth. But real honesty? Straight dope? Yeah, you’ll have to pull out teeth and fingernails from the root. 

There was a time when our collective slate was clean. Our vision for the future included healthy dialogue and open lines of communication. We were strapped in, side by side, ready to face our payouts and consequences together. But along the way, the line kinked and the communication dried up. How? I crushed the conduit. I stopped hearing you and built an amalgam of your voice. I could have asked. I should have clarified.

When the mind’s voice is always the victor, it builds one hell of a straw house. The unsaid words morphed our divide into a fissure, then time split our little world into a canyon. I stood on one side, yelling in despair, but we were too far apart and the truth no longer mattered. The straw house went up in flames.

Why was I so scared to drop my armor? I doubled down, tripled down, and held out until it ripped us apart. Years later, I can’t remember what I was protecting. Thank god you pulled the pin and blew us sky high. From the wreckage, I finally found a firm foundation. Our torrid, twisted wreckage.