My hand reashes out and somehow mananges to find yours in the darkness of illusion and wishful thinking. Our fingers interlocked, you pull me with you on your journey. And I am all too happy to follow. I feel safe and warm at your side. That's probably why I think about you all the time -- Why I'm even writing this right now. Because I wish you to be mine. This is the only place and time in which I can pretend for however long that I am a princess and you are my prince, come to whisk me away to Happy Land, where everyone is beautiful and life is as we wish it to be. But deep down I know this is not real. So I write. I pretend. I hope and pray and wish on every single star that one day what I write will be true. But it's not. It never is. And every time you DO reach out to me -- every time you DO take my hand to lead me on a journey -- we end up, not in Happy Land, but in reality, where you need my help and I can not seem to make you realize how much I love you -- what I would do for you. And every time you DO look deep into my eyes, it is to tell me you've found the one. Again. So I smile and pretend some more. Pretend I'm happy for you. But never show you who I really am inside or what I really long for. You. And I find little comfort these days in knowing I am not the only one. Because no one knows how to say the words "I love you" anymore.
No One Knows How to Say the Words "I Love You" Anymore
February 21, 2010