I worry.
I worry that I'm too much, but somehow not enough. That the voices in my head are right, that I'll forever be too much to mortals, but never enough for the ones I want to love and want them to love me.
I worry I love too hard, too fast, that I'll drown in it. That I'll let it fill my lungs with adoration, purely to be scorned because I loved them too soon.
I worry I'll lay my soul bare for the wrong person, handing over the blade that could be my undoing with a smile, praying he won't cut too deep.
But I worry if I don't love then all I'll do is hate. I'll let it consume me, burn me from the inside out, til my heart is in fact just 4 sizes too small.
Never again the kind and loving God I was capable of being purely for them, instead going back to the heartless being I was before them. Before I met them, before a mortal captured the heart I'd work so hard to hide, using mortals as tools for entertainment, deriving pleasure for their suffering.
Oh how I worry.