I don’t know how to be anything
other than intense.
All in.
Too much.
Too involved.
I don’t know how to be an almost
or anything in between.
But there’s a price you pay
when you can’t settle for the middle
because when you’re so fixated on
a certain kind of love
you become so good at letting go,
kissing people goodbye,
holding someone’s hand
only to unclasp your fingers,
getting so dangerously close
only to create a safer distance,
catching yourself before you fall
because you’re not so sure
if they will catch you.
And you don’t know how to half-love someone
or have bits and pieces of their heart,
You only know how to love with all your heart
and want the same in return.
So I got used to it all,
you know —
leaving,
moving on,
being on my own,
searching for answers,
walking my journey alone
because as much as I want to
hold someone’s hand
as I climb the mountain
and as much as I want to
share the view with someone,
I don’t know how to balance myself
if I’m not the only one.
I don’t know how to open the door
if I have one foot out.
So it doesn’t get to me anymore
when people call me too dreamy,
too romantic,
too idealistic,
or too much
because there’s a price you pay
when you don’t know how to settle,
you spend a lot of time waiting,
you spend a lot of time alone,
you don’t always have a hand to hold,
you don’t always have someone to call
but for some reason, you wait it out,
because you have faith that one of those days
your too muchness will be just enough
for the right person.