Th1rt3en Years

13 years I've written poetry about you.
Bleeding what's left of my acrylic heart
onto your paper thin canvas.
The colours constantly dripping, dripping,
slipping off.

Our timeclocks mixed like water and oil.
Never seeming to synchronize.
Yet we'd continue to stir ourselves together,
in hopes that the hands of time
may be able to save us.

Each one after you couldn't help but ask
if i still loved you.
And I'd break their hearts with my cynical silence.
Because I didn't always have it in me
to tell them the truth.

The year we've always spoke of has come.
And here we stand, ready for our grand finale.
Somehow yet, my legs are shaking, shaking,
quaking beneath the weight
of our unbearable longing.

Will you brave the jump?
Trusting more than just your own arms
to be there for the fateful catch?
Because we both know you have
at least 143 good reasons

to finally fall.