Spider web. I'm in your spider web. Scratching at my face and hands trying to get the silky strands away from my body before they envelope my being. I am fascinated by the way you do not realize how utterly amazing you are.

Love. That's what describes my feeling for you. Peace. Complete comfort the times I was in your arms. Not infatuation. Infatuation is obsession. Many are infatuated. Not in specifics over you, but over someone. I can't believe I let you go. They say If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it's yours. If it doesn't, it never was. I let you go but you didn't come back. I guess it's because you weren't let go. You were pushed away. I can't believe the lies they told me affected the feeling I had and don't seep through my soul making me a bitter poor excuse for a human being.

That's what I am though. I am a poor excuse for a human being. As for bitter, I can't go that far. Bitterness takes victory and after that repeated defeat. I have been defeated once. I have been victorious once. You decide whether or not I become bitter.

Exhaustion. I reach and reach but I keep stretching myself out and when I come back in together I am tired and raw. Raw from a feeling of expectation. Someone was walking toward me smiling at me reaching out their arms and as I began to reach out mine they walk around me to the unexpected popular beautiful person behind me and smirk at my assumption.

Beggars. People all around you begging for attention along with me. I run and jump, screaming at the top of my lungs as loud as possibility grants and you don't hear me. The murmur of the crowd is too loud. Talking too silent. Quietly and silently. I am screaming but it won't come out more so than a whisper.

You. I pushed you away. I thought they were my friends. People who wouldn't lie to me. My voice was louder than anyone else's and you could hear it. YOU could hear it. Then my friends whispered lies in my ear and I believed them and they stole my voice to divide among the crowd so everyone would be louder. I stand here. Silent. Quiet. Waiting for the silver strand of hope to snap into and me to sit down on the cold cement crying while the rain falls on others like myself.

Voiceless. Completely so. I slowly gain back a hoarse whispery moan. I slowly get back words and I can talk. But my words used to be beautiful. Articulate and accented. Now my hoarse whispery words make people cringe as they shout to me to be quiet.

And I do. But over the crowd you seem to glance in my direction more and more. And though I can whisper the gorgeous words once more and sound like I used to, you can't see me. You search the crowd because you were mine. I pushed you away and let you go and you are trying to come back but can't climb over the crowd.

When I can get to you I hope you will forgive me. I will forgive you. I'll reach you. Someday I'll reach you. Hold out your hand and wait.

Until then,

Shaynie