Fruition

Put down the phone…

Me feelings for you
Have long since come into fruition.
We’ve kissed and held hands
We’ve dreamt of each other
We’ve courted and made out
We’ve been close.
And now
Our closeness becomes a close
An end to the warmth of your touch
A finality.
An ultimatum.

Your softness
Touching you
Kissing you
Holding you
Your smell
Your lip gloss, staining my own lips as it were
Me feelings of indescribable satisfaction and staunched emptiness
After being with you.
My fruition is you.

I refuse to define this ending.
I’ve barely admitted it exists until now.
I’m not really ready.
But you are.
So eager to leave this place
You always were.
I try not to be hurt
It’s not me, it’s them.
But those words.
They mock my fruition
Yours too.

I know you liked me.
Never love,
That was never allowed.
But you liked me and
We were close.
You were satisfied by me.
I gave you companionship.
Your fruition is I.

I refuse to thank you.
But I will give you my tears and grief
As going-away presents.
Matching sisters to the ring you gave me
Which rings my soul around my finger
And makes me think of you.
But I wear it.
On the left hand
The marriage hand
The hand of fruition.

I miss you.
I care so much.
Our fruition
Is at its last.

…The line is dead.