This is me, for once, protecting my heart. You don’t understand it, you mistake the distance between us for my lack of interest but sweet boy, I want to like you. I really do. TRUST me, I do.
You’re one of the “good ones”, you’re my kind of person, you never fail to show me you care. And I wish I could too.
I let you kiss me, I even kiss you back. But I’m always the one to pull away.
We sleep in the same bed. I turn the other way, while you hold me from behind. You hold me tight, as if I’ll slip away in the dark.
You look at me, I look away. I don’t want you to see it in my eyes. But boy, you read my mind.
Writing always came naturally to me. But writing about you, I fumble. I type and delete, over and over. A process that drives me to insanity. Maybe if I write about you, it’ll feel real.
It’s not that I feel nothing for you. I do. I want to tell you every irrelevant detail about my life and I want to see you, a lot. I want to be with you. I want to make you laugh (even if you don’t find my jokes funny); seeing you laugh definitely makes me feel something.
I need to stop picturing relationships as ticking time-bombs, the beeping getting maddeningly louder every second. I need to stop seeing myself as the debris of what once was.
I’m not broken, and we’re not doomed.
When this is not so terrifyingly new, I promise to let you in, I promise to break these walls. And with time, they’ll tumble down and reveal the girl I once was, the silly girl who’d just dive in only to realize she never learnt how to swim.
Until then, will you hold me as we sleep?