Pseudonyms And Euphemisms

I'm not sure how often I should pray,

but just to be safe, I make sure I mention you every time.  

You're really something, I guess. 

With your straight back and your calloused feet.  I don't know what your name is, or where you were born, but you look like someone I've always known.  You look like someone I used to love.  I wonder if it was you all along.

Please don't think of me as inane.  I try to keep to myself on days like this, when the grass weeps and the trees quiver.  I try to pretend I'm someone else, someone more deserving.  But please do not think of me as anything but flawed.  And I hope one day you'll see them all as the epitome of love.  My every crack and my every fissure will someday be a representation of the stars that threaten to fall from the sky.  A representation of the way you look at that old photo of your mom.  

And every time you speak my name, we'll hear the wind fling itself against the front door, 

because when I'm around you, 

                                 I am not safe.  

I fear that I will run out of things to say, and we'll fall into patterns.  Cookie cut shapes of Christmas trees and bells, perfectly laid out on the table for all the neighbors to "ooh" and "aah" at.  We are merely caricatures, and silhouettes.  Our hands remain entwined, but our minds repel each other like broken magnets.  I fear this day and the days that are sure to follow.  I fear the silence, and the heartbeats that can be heard on even the rainiest of days.  I fear your judgment and your faith and your determination.  I fear your eyes will not ever truly see mine, and your ears will change the words I say.  

It's not right, and never will be, but I cannot help but ask you one more time, "Did you think I didn't mean it when I said I'm incapable of love?"