Questions, I’ve got some questions, I want to know you. But what if I could ask you only one thing, only this one time? What would you tell me?
She closed the convo, her heart still light. Things “clicked,” words flowed, tidbits exchanged. Why did it work?
Through all this, she still sighed. Even though they’d conversed, she still hardly knew the person.
She wanted to know more.
But she was afraid to ask. Again, she hardly knew this person.
Question after question zipped through her mind.
She imagined how the friendship could be, if only they knew each other.
Really knew each other.
For all intents and purposes, at least for my own: what is the heart worth if it’s just left all alone? Leave it long enough, and watch it turn into stone. Must we all, always be untrue?