Borrowed

I have a confession to make.

And it's not something I can tell as easy as thinking of me telling it.

Here's the thing.

It's not that I actually forget to get it from you.

I intentionally forget to get it from you.

Got it?

It's like everything that connects us has become dependent to a simple thing you borrowed.

And returning it to me means losing my only acceptable excuse to see you.

As the day draws nearer, my hope becomes weaker.

It's terrifying. I admit I am afraid.