Sup3rnality

Don't talk to me about e.x.p.e.c.t.a.t.i.o.n.s.

It's a dirty word, the way it rolls off the tongue every single time and dances in the dirt every time I toss it behind me. Again and again.

Don't tell me about your e.x.p.e.c.t.a.t.i.o.n.s.

I'm getting weary of being expected to answer questions I do not have the answer to. Weary of definitions when there is nothing to define. Weary, I'm just weary.

It's difficult enough being on the outside looking in. Always the spectator. Only on the sidelines. A wallflower.

Made to feel like I'm wilting.

Don't think I haven't shed tears. It overwhelms me too much, this wanting, this yearning.

You don't think.

I don't even know whether I'll make it through today, let alone tomorrow.

I'm scared of a million and one things. Of this fragile heart that is built on promises and hopes. Of fairytales that can be untold. Of kitestrings that can be cut free. Of crossing paths that might entangle. Of foundations that might break. Of everything that might fall apart.

And then these expectations, will be just that: expectations.

And never reality.