My heart is reticent
I did not reach for you as I ought
My heart is a coward,
unable to express or open the passageway
Your life was a story of hurt,
the depth evaded my grasp,
and I could not reach in without
feeling I did not belong in your china shop
My heart is sensitive
Your life was also a story of triumph
clawed into the mountainside
higher than those placed before me
My heart is proud
The time I needed was not given to me
it frightened me too much to hasten
and I deigned to seem pressured,
less than perfect in my intentions
You were not robbed of anything
though I robbed myself
You will know it when the veil parts
though it does not absolve me
I can only hope that my heart will be a book to you
though it will probably be too late to matter
I love you, Regina
though I don't know how to
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