Inches Toward True
Will we ever be true to ourselves
Or keep our hearts on crowded shelves,
Dusting off the parts we hide
While louder truths pace inside?
Will we ever speak the name
Of this quiet, stubborn flame—
Not as friends, not as maybe,
But as two souls, tired of being heavy?
I catch it in the way you pause
Before the words that break all laws.
You see it in the way I stay
A second longer, day by day.
Truth is not a single leap,
It’s inches, when we’re half asleep—
A hand that lingers, eyes that know,
The things our careful mouths don’t show.
So will we? I can’t say when.
But truth is patient. And so am I.
If it’s us, it will not pretend.
It will arrive with no alibi.
Until then, I’ll meet you here,
In glances that are almost clear,
And hope that when we choose to start,
We’ll finally let our feelings have a heart.
Until then, I’ll trace the line
Between your doubt and what is mine,
Where silence builds a fragile bridge
We cross, but never quite commit.
Will we ever call it home—
This space where almosts freely roam?
Or will we fold each unsaid vow
And promise it to later, now?
I’ve watched you weigh the cost of yes
Against the safety of this mess.
I’ve done the same, kept freedom near,
Afraid that truth would disappear.
But freedom isn’t hiding light
Behind a door that’s locked too tight.
It’s two people choosing to be seen,
With all the cracks where we have been.
So take the inch. I’ll take it too.
Let “almost” turn to “me and you.”
No perfect words, no grand parade—
Just honest hands, no more afraid.
Because being true isn’t a show
It’s staying when you want to go.
It’s saying, “Here—this tangled part?
It’s yours.” And meaning it with heart.
So will we ever? Maybe soon.
Not lightning, maybe just the moon—
Slow, sure, rising all the same,
Till night admits it knows our name.
©oriole_b
R