Just Tell Me

If you change your mind, tell me. But give me detail.

I even get it. I wasn’t joking; already preempt each end that we’ll have. I’m insulated. Just tell me.

Make the conversation last. Don’t make the cull immediate. Let me learn the amputation as you do it: place my hand on the blade as you sever.

If you change your mind, s’alright. You’re not tied, obligated, entrenched or expected. Nothing runs like that, does it?

This, the situation we’re in, this is just what is. And if it’s not, if feelings shift, epiphanies sift the clutter we’ve created with dictionary, mantle, bone, don’t worry. I’ll unhook you.

Which is not to say go.

Just, if you have to, let’s always be able to talk. There’s never any¬†judgement, censor, uncertainty. You let me say anything and – please – always.

If you have to block me, do it. Just explain it. Use quotes if you have to. And let me know, eventually, we’ll have another re-run. Maybe not reunion, but replay, syndication, or start.

Keep talking. Keep everything. For as long as I can have it. I press you.

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