I stood there, letting the words swirl around in my mouth, tasting their flavor, deciding on whether to spit them out like leftovers or swallow them quick like cough syrup. Either way, I'd end up with a bad after taste and without any answers.

And that's really all I want: answers. Because answers mean resolved questions and resolved questions means less worrying and less worrying means and rest and truly, truly, truly rest is all I want.

You once blew up at me because I couldn't decide where we should eat for dinner. And you apologized later saying it was a silly thing to get mad over, but I know that the madness came from my fault of being too indecisive and you had had one too many conversations with me as I tried to decide on where to eat, what to do with my life, where to take our relationship.

And I know that I so carefully try to juggle all my options, until they are left fallen everywhere and I have empty hands. I know I think too much and choose too rarely.

But if I said the words would I get rest? Or would the words, out of my head and into the universe, ruin all the plans I have? And if I didn't say the words? If they remained only thoughts in my head, keeping company with the I love yous I was never brave enough to say and the I'm sorrys I was too prideful to speak, would I live a life of regret for never having the guts, the courage, the nerve to speak freely?

Every choice is a rejection of one thing and an embrace of another, you told me. And this indecisive heart struggles to move past the whats ifs and into the present living, because welcoming in the present moment is scary, uncomfortable, difficult. And all I want is everything to be perfect and is that too much to ask?

So I stand there gargling the words in my mouth, praying that I will have the courage to make up my mind on what choice to make. That the whats ifs will silence, as I embrace the choice I make and the consequences that follow.

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