The one

I know she wasn't "the one", but I miss her just the same. So, am I really so sure, she wasn't "the one"? She could have been "the one". I reached out my hand, but I wouldn't take hold. I didn't have the will. I had a desire, or I wouldn't have reached, so if she was 'the one", why couldn't I see it? Why didn't I take hold of her hand, She offered her heart, and why couldn't I do the same? She was worthy without a doubt. I could have been her dream. She told me that I was, but my heart was never her's, or was it? She told me that she loved me, time, and time again. In many ways I loved her, but I couldn't let her know, because I knew would come a day, that I would let her go. She could have been my dream, but my heart told me she was not. And still I miss her. So maybe my heart lied. My heart told me she was not "the one". Or at least it didn't tell me she was. but my heart had it's doubts, and would it have ever given an answer? This bitter sweet victory, now free to chase my dreams, shattering her's. But what are my dreams? There was a time I thought I knew, but now I'm not so sure. Could she have been my dream all along? The answer to my prayers. If she was, why couldn't I tell? Wouldn't I have known, without a doubt. But I didn't know. Oh, the pain it brought to her, and her pain was mine. Hurting her was hurting me. We were so close, but just not there, and why? I couldn't choose, and was this a choice in itself? I let her walk away. No, I chased her away. I did it in a purposeful way, and why? What was the purpose? She finally walked away, looking back all the while, praying I would ask her not to go. But I couldn't, and why not? To preserve my freedom? My freedom to find that, "without a doubt", she's "the one" feeling? I guess that's it. I guess that's why. But is there such thing in this world? I felt it before, but was it real? If it was real, why am I now here, so lost? Why don't the feelings come, or why do they come for one, and not the other? Who is to say? Can anyone ever hope to own the wind? I think not. But am I the wind of which I speak? I do not wish to own, or be owned, but only to share. So why couldn't I share with her? Will I have my day? And how many hearts will be hurt along the way? I wish to hurt no one, and yet there are those I have, but above all else, I must to my own heart be true. Written November 28th, 1996 © on Oct 28 2001 03:13 AM PST   0 • 1