Drift

I hold my affections in my hands

With no place to channel it,

No one to hold it.

Just me. 

I look at it in all its abandonment 

And I hold it close,

Because it has no one.

As I don't. 

I learnt to not have my heart on my sleeve. 

I learnt to barely keep my heart within me. 

I’ve drifted my heart and affections far,

Hoping to be the only one capable of hurting me. 

So what happens now?

I send them off like Moses,

Blanketed. Secured. 

Drifted. Away. 

For the time being, they will be away from me,

I’ll be pain-free. 

Numb. 

It doesn’t end here. 

Because I hope,

It finds a home. 

Acceptance. 

Reciprocity. 

Maybe for once, my affection won't know neglect. 

It could blossom. 

Grow. 

Thrive. 

If it doesn’t then it shall drift and drift. 

If abandoned again,

I shall bid another farewell 

And bid as many as I have to. 

The end game is to feel (love or) nothing at all.