im a failed beaver

and Im stuck somewhere between fulfilled and acutely aware of my deficiencies. happy alone, until suddenly desperate to be close. so silly, and so foreign. if nothing else, life has taught me self reliance, and nothing is more horrifying than teetering off balance.
thats what letting people in does.
sufficient and cool, until suddenly I want to sob and laugh at the same time, because so often crying is like sighing.
tears built up behind a dam of denial, until finally falling, and I am the happily failed beaver, my lap wet with tears, hair stuck to my face.
only god could make crying feel so good.
and I will never be able tell you how I feel when you ask me.
Ill stutter, so consumed in how youll receive my words, that they'll never make it past my lips. stuck somewhere between my heart and yours. believing nothing could be worse than rejection. so we'll watch as I let go, without protest, full of composure.
and you won't know the capacity I have to care.
instead Ill hold my words behind my eyes and beneath my apprehension, until days when I am the failed beaver. days when all the things I could have said fall down my face and onto my jeans.
because sometimes its ok to feel sad. if nothing less, disappointment is tangible. its proof you let someone in close enough to affect you, and that you care.
at least its feeling.