So now we stand at this crossroad
I am the road less traveled yet the road most familiar.
You are the journey most crave but the trek too far out of the way.
So where do we go?
Is this the birth of a new path... Our own... Or the most comfortable.
It is now only where we stand at each other.. Craft and path.
You are my first pick. But I want your permission.
Is it ok to need you?
Are you ok with that responsibility?
Do you accept my darkness?
Because I accept your light.
Let me.
Let
Me
Love you.
About the Creator
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More stories from Moriah Osuji and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Night Under Street Lamp Lights.
I heard a change in your voice. There is something so powerful in who you are once you've reached clarity. You are bright but not blinding. When you've finally removed the obstacles you've placed in your own way. How You step so light and each move you make has a grace all its own. Did time slow down as you floated around the front of the taxi? I wonder now If you even knew how nervous I was. How my mind scrambled and my hands trembled gently as I could hear my heart beating in my own ears. Why was I nervous like I'd never met you? Frozen As the taxi's lights drifted till the sound of its wheels blended with the rest of the city's song. I looked at you under the street lamp lights. At that moment I thought I was in the presence of a stranger but a stranger that I have only met in dreams. The one I know so well, am held so safe, loved bigger, harder, and deeper than any love that exists in the universe. Someone that sees me in and out knowing me better than I know or see myself.
By Moriah Osuji3 years ago in Poets
We'z Walking on a Path Ruled By Numbers
This road has felt endless, yet limited; every step tracked. Inching away along this path, I feel trapped. Confined. Left to this narrow passage that may one day amount to something greater. Time is not a concept. Only distance. From start to finish, I laugh and cry and attempt to convince myself that this is worth it. I cannot stray. I must keep going. Every step etched, is a step taken, is measured as more than before. I cannot even recall how I got here. Maybe I don’t even really exist. Just another tick marking off a perceived presence. Of what though? I am just another line drawn. Nothing more, nothing less.
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