I’m not good at sharing. I like stealing all the covers. I like sleeping in the middle of the bed. I like building a pillow fort around my body, and pulling the blanket tighter around me when I’m cold. I like stealing the last sushi roll off our shared plate. I like jumping in the shower first. I like fixing my bowl of ice cream before yours, and making plans that fit perfectly into my day, my schedule, my pace, my rules.
Sometimes I can be a little selfish. Sometimes I’ll push back when it comes to having things your way. Sometimes I’m stubborn as hell, and even though I won’t always admit it, I pride myself on this. When I know I’m right, I’ll want to fight it. When I’m not sure if I’m right, I’ll want to fight it anyways. And when I’m dead wrong, I’ll argue just to have the last word, because I want you to know that I’m stronger than you think. And for some reason I have it in my head that I need to be strong with you, just so you know you can’t walk all over me. Just so you know that when push comes to shove, I’m not backing down.
I think it’s because I’m scared. Scared that if I’m not tough, you’ll hurt me. Scared that one day you’ll just leave. So maybe some silly part of me says that I should push you away, just to see if you’ll stay.
Sometimes I’m hard to love, but I don’t try to be.
I’m just a little nervous to love you fully. Nervous that when I shift my life to make room for you, I’ll lose myself. And as much as I want to become something beautiful with you, I don’t want to change who I am and who I’ve become.
I’m not always good at loving. Sometimes I try to give more than I should. Sometimes I don’t give enough. Sometimes I tell myself to be guarded and I hold back, even when I know I shouldn’t. Sometimes I say too damn much and my words spill over when you aren’t ready for them. Sometimes I’m just a mess that’s stuck in her ways, her routines, her habits.
But I want you to know that as frustrating as I can be, I’m giving you the one thing that matters the most—my heart—it’s yours for the taking.
I want you to have my heart, to hold it, to protect it, to love it in all the ways that you can.
I trust you. I trust you to care for me. I trust you to be there when I need you, and be there when I push you away because I want to do things on my own. I trust that you’ll listen. I trust that you’ll stand by my side. I trust that you’ll be good to me. I trust that you’ll love my stubborn, food-stealing, cover-hogging, determined self and never stop loving me.
And I’ll love you too, I promise.
I might not give you everything just yet—not the last slice of pizza, not the first sips from my water bottle on a hot day, not the passwords to my computer or the key to my most private journal, not all the blankets on the bed—but I will give you my heart.
My heart is yours for the taking. Yours to mold, yours to shape, yours to teach. Yours to show me how to love again, to be unafraid, to not worry so much about becoming someone different, to not be afraid of losing myself because I won’t lose myself falling for you.
Loving you means being myself, and becoming something even more beautiful with you.
So take my pillows, take my fuzzy socks, take over my bathroom mirror. Take the warm side of the bed, take the snacks from the cabinets, take the words from my mouth and kiss me instead. I’m sorry I’m so damn stubborn, so difficult.
I just love you, and I’m not sure how to say it.
Take my heart and give me yours. I want you. I want us. I want this. I want this messy, beautiful thing. I want this for real.