It's torture to lay with you in honest silence

No peace exists as I feel, as I hold and grip that heavy silence where soft, comforting words should be

You turn and hug me closer to you, and them closer to me without really knowing,

in a hope so sincere and human that I cannot fathom refusing

I clench and fidget with the unnatural weight of those words in my hand,

like three little pieces of lead type case

And for one agonising moment I pause to roll them, nervously,

from fingertip to palm, back and forth

My hands reel and blister at their touch

So angry that I grip my hands bloody, just hoping you'll notice the fear in my eyes and not mistake it for love

You can't see, or maybe you're too afraid to notice,

the leathery mosaic of nicks and calluses that those little pieces of type case have worn across my hands

Some yours, some others', but each of them heavy like the false promise they spell

Each of them heavy like lead and regret, as I let loose my grip

When the words tumble past my lips

When I finally say

When I finally read aloud those words your eyes beg to see in mine like a mirror

"i love you"

If I think of these words just often enough,

Will it make saying them any more true?

If I count them like beads, like the penance of better men,

Will it make me believe that it's true?

If I mumble them as prayer each night until the sun returns each day,

Will the light of it show me something new?

If I hum yet another mantra with eyes and hands clenched tight enough to bleed,

Will it change who I am for you?

I love you enough,

Enough to pretend I love you most

Enough to protect you from ever knowing

how little I can love anything at all

I love you enough

to feel dead inside for not loving you as I should