all the things i can't say

I want to say everything.
Tell you everything - all of it, everything.
But I'm scared.
Of that moment - after the words tumble out, but before they hit the ground. Of that moment after the silence is fractured, but before we perceive by what. Of that moment after the relief sweeps over me, as the anxiety floods.
That moment you're sure to just be looking at me, before you process, before you answer.
I know I'll want to take it back, to make it go away. Wish I hadn't said anything. Fix it. Pray for diversion - an earthquake, a lightning bolt, to just drop dead. Anything, just so I won't have to deal with you.
And whether you'll run or hide or hug me. Or scream or laugh or kiss me. Or point or turn things around or trust me and believe me and just understand... because it's not that hard:
I'm afraid of that moment, because it's sure to be more of an eternity.