Never, Too Late.

I never meant to find the peace of love that I gleaned from your presence. A glowing, warm, and confusing aura, I’ve began to pick up where I left off. I shook your hand, grinned that over lactic grin, because any sense of a real vocabulary had escaped. I was not speechless, it was that I merely would have rambled on, it certainly would have been less speech and more embarrassment that I could not make a greater impression.

I would see you around but my nerves always got the better of me, I played friendly but was anything but. I did everything I could to quarantine and confine the giddiness and joy that I experienced by listening to you speak. Even your frustrated voice had a way of injecting a bit of glee into me, it was like watching the grass on the other side grow.

I confess that I did not miss you, but I did hope to run into you. This is a small world, one ruled by endless possibilities. I just wish that I hadn’t left my voice at the door, that I’d held the door open for just a bit longer, or slowed down as I walked away. These are the errors of my way, my Mira Loma that grands the Blake-ian plates of my innocence and experience.

I will only express what I have not said. One day.

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