I’m sorry for the baggage — it seems to follow me around everywhere. I’ll start to think I’ve finally left it behind, set it down on some obscure street corner and walked away from good, but it always finds its way back to me. I try to hide it, try to ignore it for good, but it’s just so fucking heavy — sometimes I wonder how I was ever able to carry it alone.
And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it’s heavy for you, too.
I’m sorry for being clingy. I try not to be. I understand the need for space — require it, even. Sometimes I need all the time in the world to just lie here, alone, and find peace within myself. It’s only when I start to think your silence means something that I start to get scared. I’m used to people disappearing without a word. I’m used to them withholding themselves from me as punishment, to make me feel like I don’t deserve their attention, that I don’t deserve them. I’m used to feeling like an island, adrift and alone, even when there’s someone beside me. I never felt more landlocked than when I met you.
I’m sorry for always having one foot out the door. I know it always looks like I’m about to leave, like I’m about to run as fast and as far as I can. I know it looks like I don’t want to be here, even though it’s the only place I want to be. I’m so used to being left that sometimes I find myself just waiting to be the one to leave first. It’s an involuntary reflex, and a bad one at that. If I seem like I’m creeping toward the exit, just coax me back onto the couch. Hold me like an anchor. Remind me there’s nowhere else I’d want to go. Only then will the feeling pass.
I’m sorry if it seems like I don’t trust you. The funny part is I do, more than anyone else I’ve ever trusted before. I believe you when you say you’re here to stay. But there’s something inside my subconscious that’s always looking for signs that something is wrong, that something is off, and as soon as it finds even the semblance of something, my whole body goes on lockdown. And intellectually I know — I know — that there’s no reason for me to be this way with you, but something inside me refuses to believe that there could ever be someone as good as you. It cannot believe that there are people who exist who will not leave my heart bleeding and spluttering on the floor. Just put your hand over my heart and remind me that it’s still there, that you are, too.
I’m sorry if it ever seemed, for even a moment, like I didn’t love you with everything inside me. I’m still learning what it means to be with someone like you. All I know is that you make me feel lighter, happier, like my soul deserves to put down all the pain and hurt and paranoia and just rest; and maybe, just maybe, someday I’ll blink and realize there’s no baggage left at all.