Stuck

She can't tell me how much she loves him, that wouldn't be fair to me. She can't tell me how much she loves me, that wouldn't be fair to him.  She is stuck. No words can come out, so hopefully I can see the letters in these tears and piece together the words for her. I'm generally better with words anyway, but I keep wiping those tears away without reading them first. How is that fair to her? 

She's already taken all the hard steps I never could. She left me. She left where I work, she left where I play, she walked across the hot coals of my disappointment to get to her paradise and I would not be so brave.  She took the steps I have never taken, the bravery is commendable.  She doesn't know that I took every step in her direction not out of fear of losing her, but out of my own bravery.  I follow her because I too am venturing towards paradise. Her tears are acid but I wipe them with my hands which I need to write because I would rather see them burn away my words than scortch that perfect face, the reason I write.

She's fear-filled to think of what it will mean for me to be in this emotional purgatory. She's excited to think what it will mean for her to still have me in her life. She is stuck.