I could feel you were caught in the headlights like a deer.
You’re used to practicality and heady discussions, to nihilistic thinking, and to do whatever seems useful.
Not pausing. Not holding gaze long enough to have your heart cracked open at the small big miracles that life brings. Plants. Babies. Water.
You think nothing is a miracle. I think everything is a miracle.
You believe in logic.
I believe in energy.
But by my side, you allowed yourself to cry.
Again and again. Even in moments I was distracted enough to not notice.
So I thought I was with someone this honest, this transparent, this open to be hit by life with total willingness for truth.
You thought me being open and soft was a beautiful part of our cycle. A romantic phase that would pass.
You thought I showed myself to you because you did do too, in the freshness of new, untouched trust.
And I did.
I could smell your fascination,
How refreshing you said it was to savor someone that would not protect herself around you.
What you never understood is that this takes work. I wanted to be this person. So I became her.
This was not a special, finite moment in time.
It was not a desert or an evolutionary strategy to attract love.
I am always these,
I am always coming back to me,
I chase the fire in my heart.
I don’t quit or turn my head when insecurity burns.
Nor when boredom gives me chills.
I cut through when I harden with numbing.
What is this? I don’t want to stir far from my own heart.
It was exhausting for you. Because it takes radical honesty and confronting. And I do not take breaks.
I do not cheat myself.
I am serous about recognizing everyday just who is living within this skin and below this eyes.
So that you can see me too.
You find a hot heart and clear water every single time.
That was not a phase that would pass. And I only drink silence to come closer, if it creates distance, I’ll ask.
In difficulty, asking will be uncomfortable.
It did not get past the wall around your heart.
A limit to your love.