Feeling like the biggest fool, fearing for my life in knowing what I’m readying to do. To become your woman is to devout my energy and attention to your happiness and cause. I’m sold at the price of your smile
And my heart?
Before you, I place a wheel and thread for you to work my heart strings with the palm of your needles
Choose.
Sew your garment of warmth and protection, singe the hemline with care. Or pierce a wound into my flesh and turn your words into a web of lies
I fear…
That all I have to give will morph into all I’ll lose in you. That even gaining it all back will only expose your fingerprints on the entirety of my being I’ve welcomed you to touch. That my heart will become a crime scene of theft and exploitation after I allowed you in to explore and reside. That I will have no strength to charge at war now that my walls are lowered, and the gate unlocks at the sound of your voice
I am yours.
The highest level of this emotional state. Does that mean that I am not mine to control? Is it confession of ownership rather than partnership? Do I have a share of myself to keep? I am in love with the best man I’ve ever known, who also has the greatest potential to lead me to my demise. A risk that would break me into a hallow case of shrapnel drenched in the tears that never made it out. A risk that would make every inhalation feel unnecessary that my lungs would reject intake and could never clear my spirit of the smug of disappointment.
I dare gravity to fasten itself to the pillar of consciousness that remains or nothing else would hold me still during the turmoil of wasted love…and stolen time…and blinding heartache.
And yet, I am still with you. Hopeful that you would be different, trusting that you would understand, care enough to not compete with my love but rather water it with kindness, reciprocate what is owed to me.
Am I brave for loving you? Or am I a fool for needing you to love me too?