I’m tired and bruised, worn wary and cautious by others who never should’ve been able to hurt me that way. I have my issues. I have my questions. I’m so very far from ideal with such a long way to go. And I’m selfish for wanting you. But maybe…just maybe, I could be good for you. You’re medicine to me, so perhaps I could reciprocate.
The ounce of hope left in me reasons that you couldn’t walk away, not again. It insists that this second run-in is fate’s apology, and you and I are finally on track for our destinies. That part of me aches to call you night after night.
Then there’s a block of pessimism that sits cold in my gut. That’s the part of me that fights to ruin every smile and always leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It’s a plain reminder of what happened before and constantly chants that history is always bound to repeat itself.
I have half a mind full of wonder. Why did we even meet in the first place? How have we made it through all of this and come out stronger? What does any of it mean? It’s a beautiful little thing, but I keep it hidden for fear of those crushing realities. It’s not easy to ask questions when no one wants to give honest answers.
And finally, I have a heart cut out specifically for you. It beats every day and night knowing there’s a purpose because you proved to me that there is. It races at the sound of your voice, even threatens to collapse when our eyes meet. My very livelihood is convinced you’re the one.
And yet, I still don’t know if I can say it. It’s maddening to be good with words but so terrible at saying what matters most. I want it so bad, but I’m still six parts fear.