I haven’t forgotten about you. I’ve had you since I was 13 and even 8 years later I still support how you evolve and change right along with me.
Looking back I see how far I’ve come; I see the highs and lows, when I was at my best and worst, and how time really has healed so much of my old pain.
Somehow today I’m happier than I’ve ever been, but I’m still so far from where I could, should and want to be. I need security. I need reassurance. I feel the love growing in my heart for someone whom I’ve known for a while now, I feel my walls coming down and I can’t avoid the excitement in my mind as a think about what the future could hold.
There is still so much uncertainty.
Everything is still built far too much off of hope, and not enough off of reality.
He is perfect. He is perfect for me. He is perfect to me. He is perfect with me. I’ve never felt so secure, so comfortable, so calm with someone. I’ve been in love before, and I’ve gotten crushed to a thousand pieces.
I’ve always picked myself back up and found a way to glue the pieces back into a new, better, stronger being. That doesn’t mean I’m not still scared.
He doesn’t realize what he could do to me now. He doesn’t realize that he holds my heart in the palm of his hand, in his every word, in his actions and in his plans. He doesn’t realize that I am just a few bricks away from letting that wall come down completely that I built so strong so long ago after being hurt time and time again. He doesn’t realize that if he gives me the opportunity to love him, I will. He doesn’t understand that I will fall in love and I won’t be able to stop it. He doesn’t understand how incredible it could be.
He doesn’t understand that turning back now would crush me more than any other past pain I’ve had, at least I don’t think he does.
He doesn’t understand that I have already begun to give him my heart and that letting fear outweigh how he truly feels will hurt the most.
I am so scared. I am so vulnerable. I am so surprised at myself for ending up here once again after years of rebelling and becoming convinced that I would never feel so much; that I would never love again.
I was numb and I was comfortable. I was content with the emotionless, sexless, painless life of monotony and loneliness I was feeling in my heart because I refused to let anyone in. I hadn’t found anyone to let in.
How am I supposed to take this risk without fear? Well, I’m not. Fear is part of life. So is taking risks.
This risk could break me. This risk could hurt more than every other risk I’ve taken combined. This risk could hurt like the old cuts across my body. This risk could hurt like the scissors in the bathtub, the knife on my bedroom floor, the red tissues in the trash, the bandaids on my thighs. This risk could hurt like pain of being crushed by that wall I put up, and that pain won’t go away until I build it back up and keep everyone out for good.
I already have. And it’s already too late.
I am in love with every second of it.
That’s life. Happiness doesn’t come for free.
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