i hope my words are strange and wondrous,

like kisses that quiet all things superfluous,

so that we can all stop and

listen

it triggered a memory,

of you.

days when you used to cup my face in your hands,

and bring it close to yours,

laughing and asking me why i was so cute

before giving in to my unreasonable demands for whole birthday cake or extra time with you.

in remembering i smiled

the kind of smile i seem to have grown into.

one that comes from knowing the bittersweet feeling of having grown up and left parts of me

behind.

what is this 'cute' if not a reckless trust in the love of another to comply with your demand?

a heart not yet speared and torn to shreds by disappointment and selfishness.

and how does one stay 'cute' when a person-shaped void is a reminder of a broken promise?

you couldn't meet my demand.

so i stopped asking anyone for anything

and learned independence.

it hurt so. it hurts still.

i step out everyday in growing caution,

watching what i say, what i do, the way i look, the way i sound,

regulating the way i feel, the thoughts i think, the dreams i dream.

i wonder if the thought of being vulnerable

will always evoke the remnant memory of you.

but the danger of this wondering, is the sharp pain coming from the middle of my chest

and a rising tide of old hurts and emotion that have grown weaker with time but remain ever constant.

it is the overtone of old love clashing in my ears

and the uncertainty of the future weighing on my shoulders.

so i step away,

i will not be cute.

not now.

not yet.