Dreams

A Love Story

Tyler Knott Gregson, love, poetry, love story

When I was a little girl, I used to dream up love stories. It’s a curse, I tell you. It has followed me past 40 and right on into my 42nd year. Except now I write the love stories instead of just dreaming of them.

When you write love stories, you should probably find a way to balance that creative, romantic mind of yours with real life. I’d rather not sometimes. Lately I’ve been working hard at this. But failing. Miserably.

The love story I’d write for myself certainly wouldn’t start at 40, 41, or 42. But one thing I know for sure? When it happens, I won’t be giving up easily or throwing in the towel when things get weird and it’s easier to walk away.

The other thing I know for sure? All this waiting has worn me thin and tired at the edges. Worn thin and tired. When you find it and it slips away or you question on the quiet, lonely nights if he’s ever going to show up on your doorstep, you convince yourself to give up. It’s all for the best, dear heart – you say to yourself. And then what? I hang on a little longer, my heart ever hopeful until I am reminded of where I sit and where he sits.

Tonight, after 20 hard days that followed some dark months at the end of last year, my heart is tired. My heart is worn thin & tired, friends. The love story I most want to write won’t float to the surface because my greatest fear lives there.

Worn thin and tired.

Won’t you come home to me now? What’s with this waiting, my dear friend? These are the questions I would ask him if I could. The Goo Goo Dolls have a sweet and light song called “Come to Me.” Ryan Adams has one too {he’s one of my favorites} but it’s a little sadder.

“Come to me my sweetest friend…”

“History is like gravity, it holds you down, away from me”

Here on this edge, this quiet place, where I’m tired of living without him, I’m fighting for hope sitting here in this empty house. Won’t you come to me, my sweetest friend? Sit with me – right here next to me – so we can patch up these worn and frayed edges.

1 thought on “A Love Story”

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