oh, honey. all fire but no flame. in over your head and hiding under an argument, flailing and fragile and trying to forgive yourself for knowing better but saying yes anyway. mad at everyone else for a choice they told you not to make. soon you’ll see the difference between what he gives and what he’s taking. soon you’ll feel the difference between who’s just barely bending and who’s breaking.
I just stopped writing. There came a point where it hurt too much to let the pain travel all the way from my heart to my fingertips and on to a page. I didn’t want to dig that deep into myself, leaving a hole I’d inevitably try to fill up again with something or someone I needed to learn to live without. Even if living without them felt like the closest I’ve ever been to dying, it had to be done. So I swallowed my words and held on to my hurt just to know I had something nobody could take away from me.
I’ll love you through the ups and downs, the in-between, and you know that. I’ll be your light in the dark shielding you from the shadows. I’ll keep you warm and comfortable and kiss your flaws until you admire them as much as I do. I’ll talk about your shortcomings as if they give you character and I will do it so often you will start to believe me. You’ll start to see yourself as the man I know you can be and once I’ve given you everything I have and taught you everything I’ve ever learned you’ll leave. You’ll leave me with nothing but the memory of the boy you once were, teaching me the difference between a boy and a man and which ones are worth falling in love with.
I think the hardest part is accepting that he’d never love me the way I needed him to. He’d never understand my definition of loyalty. He wouldn’t ever identify with the way I feel when I hear Manchester Orchestra or Kate Nash or Sarah Kay poems. If I offered him a threesome he’d glow at the thought. He wouldn’t turn it down because I alone was enough for him. I’ve never been enough for him. He’d admit, “Your words, not mine.” He wouldn’t push on the rare occasion I needed to pull because what is he if not in control? He’d drool with his friends over body types exact opposite of mine but swear I was all he wanted. I’ve never been what he wanted. He’d say I love you and he’d convince himself he meant it but only because this was the first time he felt something. And when you go from feeling nothing to feeling something you want that something to have a name, but love isn’t something. Love is everything. I gave him everything. He gave me something.