Wordless Feelings

Every sentence passing my lips
Sounds like insincere cliché.
Yet, truly the old masters knew their craft well,
For only these words will suffice.
Not even that can they do, truth be told,
For words exist not for my feelings.
Some brand it, define it, bottle it up...

Why do they bother?
Why do they care?

Do actions not supposedly speak louder than words?
Why then must I tell her how I feel?
Though tell her I must, and the reason is simple -

The pain is growing too great to bear.

The pain of silence.

The pain of loneliness.

And yet, even as these words are written,
The potential pain of what might happen outweighs this.
What she might do.
Not reject, or insult, those can be handled,
The feared pain is one of absence.

Her absence.

From my life.

As the pain grows greater,
And my resolve stronger,
Opportunity seems to lessen.
Turning a cold shoulder,
And blind eye,
To my plight.

Fate will not let me tell her,
Fate will not let me forget her.

I am stuck, truly and solid.

Stuck in the fickle hand of fate.

Stuck in indecision.

Stuck in my mind.

Even now, when I could be saying some,
Or steeling myself for confrontations to come,
I write.
In my mind, conditions must be perfect.

Opportunity present,
Other people absent.

Therein lies the catch,
For one such as her travels never alone,
And I have no desire to tear her from her friends for my own selfish wants.

Thus I wait,

And think,

And hurt,

And write,

And end where I began, with words like clichés,

And the one I care about far away.