The Dread Of Loneliness Burns The Art Of Love.

Why does love feel like watching the bullet fly out of a gun aimed at your heart.

My body is trembling like the final warning of a storm,
or the moment before the first plunge
into the deep end of the pool.

My heart aches with the impending doom
of rejection that isn't yet set in stone.
The knowledge of the possible
is enough to shatter a soul.

Should I open my heart to somebody who could walk away
and leave me in the pouring rain?
Will that rain comfort the broken as the cold of unrequited love
seeps through their heart and skin.
Is the hope of love enough to overcome the fear of loss?

Paper flowers, hand written confessions, chocolate.
Will it be enough to trigger reciprocation in her heart?
Must I lay in bed wondering rather than knowing?

The clouds are closing in, my body moves closer to the edge,
only a few vital breaths are left before the moment of confession,
will I run?