What Is Yet to Be

"Defense
is
offence:"
you
told
me.
I
tried
to
have
a
defenseless
heart
with
you
but
failed
so
many
times.

You
said
to
me,
"You
think
my
words
are
harsh,
but
they
strip
away
the
false
so
that
you
can
be
related
to
all
things."

I
felt
the
stripping
away
and
sometimes
a
glimpse of
being
related
to
all,
but
always
you
were
my
focus
like
falling
in
love
no
choice
involved,
my
heart
melted
in
you
and
you
didn't
even
have
to
love
me
back.
It
was
enough
to
be
able
to
give
what
I
could
to
you --
of
course
I
tried
bargaining
"Just
live
a
little
longer,
I'll
give
you
all
my
money."
As
if
this
would
work.
One
more
summer,
just
give
us
one
more
summer,
or
maybe
two.
And
some
days
it
seemed
like
you
might
relent
give
us
more
time
then
other
days
it
was
obvious
it
soon
would
be
over.
Still
there
is
something
pressing
inside
of
me
that
won't
let
me
go,
that
somehow
you
were
leaving
me
with
something,
something
I
had
to
do
or
be,
some
weight
of,
not
obligation,
but
an
inner
direction,
some guidance
that
would
surely
be
revealed
in
time,
and
wasn't
up to me
anymore.
It
didn't
matter
who
I
was
or
what
I
was,

I
still
belonged
to
you.