When women close off

Turbines in my mind. The words I should have said, but those for which my lips would not part. I have felt these gates before, but they are years removed.

Now multiple variations of these words dance in my mind. And I wonder if your day will be as plagued as mine—your mind taking pit stops to guess what happened, for I know my distance was without logic.

But baby, I feel involuntarily closed. When I saw you at the gym, the feeling was unrealized. I left high with emotion and attraction, my body and my mind roused with the memory of your magnetism. But your surprise arrival as I stood stark in the shower revealed a shyness, a lost comfort.

We did speak as always. Intimately. We played. We laughed. It was the first time I had seen you in five days. Five days that were devoid of communication—I was left instead consumed by the waves of you penetrating my thoughts, missing you, imagined conversations, retellings to never be told of the daily happenings and the mishaps that are my unconventional life.

Every ounce of me is not trying to punish you or play games. I loathe these gates of mine. I loathe them for I know they are without reason. Although, I feel that I don’t trust you. But those words, too easy to misconstrue. I don’t imagine another woman or ulterior motives. What I don’t trust is us—your feelings regarding us. Am I still being tested? When can I sigh, receive my grade?

I am unzipped. Vulnerable. And raw.

My body in charge. For it cannot pretend. My explanation poor. “I am not feeling physical.” It was beyond my control. My body and my mind no longer one. I know that you care. But my subconscious demands more and my body protects. Needing reassurance, security. I hold on to the infrequent expressions you have gifted me. Your penned name and on date on my wrist as you joked that I am yours. Your retelling of “the girl I am seeing.” Of the investors and your best friend substituting your nickname for me in conversations. I attempt to fill my thoughts with your actions, actions that should provide me with the knowledge that you and I are indeed a us.

My body argues. And I am sorry, cognizant for I truly must be a saboteur. I think of my lips and my desire to speak, to explain. Of my inability. Wishing I knew our unit was secured. Realizing that your love language may be actions, but that I may be one who requires words. And I am at a loss.

With lips that only part releasing an empty breath.

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