It's like I need to tell my story. Like it's already bubbling below the surface - my surface. A little tear in my protective skin will only release this torrent, she struggled to say. Only I can't ever actually say it. If you wonder, I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Do you understand the difference? I mean, come on, she said, you can trust me.
She only ever wanted someone to love. This morning, this day full of promise, carried by breeze and light, swirled across her face, gently ruffling her sleep-tousled hair. Light stretching across the sky, stroking the senses and bringing the city to life. A gloriously sweet moment, meandering together in the quiet, being quiet. How great the comfort from sleeping side by side, loving touches asking for nothing but human contact. She loves to wake up next to him, to know she can lie unconscious and vulnerability to one of the finest people she has had the honor to know, and the world will be all right in the morning.
It wasn't until later that doubt settled in. How could only a possibility send her racing for the hills? No, she protested, no way. It would never be like that; it couldn't. Skeptical brows and dismissive hands to greet her. Affectionate kisses and hugs analyzed and questioned.
She's so easily swayed, her walls ready to rise. Are you kidding me? What a joke, he sighed scornfully. The key to putting her down, he said conspiratorially, is to always remember fear. Her fear, to be precise. That she will love too hard, too long, and lose it all. See? It doesn't even have to be a boyfriend - anyone she loves that hovers between acquaintance and lover. Every time they leave, a chunk of her goes with them, and she's gotta crack sometime. Whispered secrets and vulnerability are dreams of the past, don't you know?
This morning was full of promise.
Geez, I want to be friends with you all so bad, but I can't. If only they had a cure-all for bullshit.
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