Less Than

I hold my breath every time we get too close, because what we are isn’t enough, yet it’s already too much, and I wonder, how much longer I can live in this half-empty place, where the words I want to say are swallowed before they ever make it out. I keep waiting for something to shift, for the world to give me a sign, but it’s like we’re stuck in this place where every feeling is too big to ignore, and every truth too small to hold on to. And yet, I’m too close to let go, too deep in this to just walk away. So we exist in the in-between, too close to ignore, too distant to hold. It kills me, because I’d rather you hate me than look at me like that— like I could be more, but I never will be.