I’ve been running my whole life. From places. From people. It’s what I’ve learned to do best. Along the way there have been exceptions; there have been people I loved, people I gave myself to, people who broke me and reminded me that I should have never stopped running in the first place. So I continued running.
But now I think I’m ready to stop.
I have a habit of pushing people away, but I don’t want to do that with you. I don’t want to shut you out or force you away. I want to know you, and I want you to know me. I want to know what makes you get up in the morning. I want to know what makes you laugh and what brings a smile to your face. I want to know your goals and ambitions and desires. I want to help you fight for them, and I want you to want to fight for mine.
My heart is in a constant battle of letting you go or pulling you closer. It carries the weight and the scars from my past, too fragile to accept something new. It lives in a constant fear of being broken. But I don’t want to be scared anymore.
I’m sick of building walls that are impenetrable.
These walls were built to protect me.
But I don’t want to be protected when it comes to you.
The uncertainty of the future keeps me up at night. It keeps me rolling around the bed staring at the ceiling wondering what the next day may bring. This uncertainty has kept me constantly running, hoping that if I don’t stop moving, it will never catch up with me. I don’t know much, but I think I know this: I think I’m ready to stop running.
I think I’m ready to stand still and accept whatever the future has in store for me, for us. I’m scared, and I don’t know that I ever won’t be, but I know that I don’t want to run when it comes to you.