You told me once that you don't tell me about your hurt

You think I am busy and it would be a waste of my time.

I told you that your hurt matters.

And that you are worthy of me. 

Honey, I know that the loneliness feels thick 

I know that it smells putrid and rancid. 

I know that it lingers and hovers even when you least expect it. 

I know that there's pain. Dull and ever-present at first then sharp and sudden. 

And you can't quite decide which one is worse.

You ask of nothing from me. 

Yet I have a request for you. 

Do not lower yourself into the pit of despair.     

Though if you did, I would join you. 

Do not find yourself on the arms of those who do not savor your every word. 

But if you do, I will. 

Do not share your spirit with the unfit. 

But if you did, I would retrieve it. 

A decade of dedication, do you still not feel my love?

You are a whole note. I am only a staff. 

Together, we are everything. 

Cynia Barnwell