This Is Why I’m Scared To Love You

Chiara Cremaschi
Chiara Cremaschi

I am a child, a stubborn red-headed little girl. Spent a whole lifetime believing I’m better off alone. Not used to having someone nice around. Throwing a tantrum that I might have to give something up to get something in return. And why is it so delicious to be stubborn, to pout, to brood?

I don’t know how to lay my heart on the floor. And I certainly don’t know how to hold yours in my hands. My body doesn’t know how to respond to this much affection. My mind doesn’t understand why your attention is simultaneously enticing and terrifying. My head is in winter. I am unnerved.

Don’t ask me what’s going on in my head because I don’t know myself. Trust me on one thing: I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t often get to have something I’ve wanted.

And you are uncharted waters.

I am so used to cutting them loose when their time is up. So used to leaving hearts and beds, I never learned how to arrive. Walls were never built because they were always there, just got stronger with time.

It’s a risk I have to accept, I know. But I don’t feel like having you in my head. I don’t know if there’s room for you among my bulk of useless thoughts.

You’ve been the longest to stay since the last one left with her. So I’m anxious, and stubborn, and brooding.

But I need to stop whining. I am a child.

If you wanna ride the bike you have to fall down. If you wanna find blue skies you have to get through the gray. At least lower your drawbridge, open your gate, or else you’ll never entwine with another.

And try not to disconnect.

We are hovering on the edge of a cliff. Do we jump? Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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