Dear You,
I don't think you know.
But I'm slipping.
Sliding.
Toppling.
Back into old habits. Back into the thinking processes of "but what if...?"
And I'm sorry. I don't mean to be this way. Perfection is flawed in the way we seek it. I'm trying to make you into something that you're not.
Change is good. Change helps the earth to grow.
But the tree doesn't change what fruit it grows.
I'm so sorry.
I love the way you laugh. The way you kiss my knuckles almost subconsciously. I love the way you let me in, sprawled across your bed to talk. To talk about hopes, fears, strengths, weaknesses. I love how you know your flaws, holding them out to me to see. I love your willingness to show me you.
But I'm slipping, sliding, toppling.
I want you to see inside my soul and understand how earnest I am. How desperate I am for you to understand just how much I care. Which is why I'm sliding into the mud, sucking me down. I will never be content till I recognize.
I'm flawed too.
You showed me that. You shone a lightless torch into my heart and showed me the cracks. I will stand my ground for you. I will not be crushed under the desire to carve you into something else. I am not going to abandon you. I'm meant to stand beside you, hold your hand, look forward with you.
They will see what I see.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Falling in love is the easy bit. It's the fear of hitting the ground that makes me brace myself for impact.
Me,
ns 15.158.61.45da2
