I wish I could, even for a fleeting moment, just know how to handle everything.
Handle the stress, the emotions, maybe even the pain.
But I am defiantly imperfect in my ways and in my head.
My values fight to stay solidified as I face situations a younger me couldn’t comprehend.
I wish I could take things in stride like I used to, but with you I’ve become so different, in millions of ways good, but my thick skin cannot turn into leather before your gaze.
It instead sheds away, leaving me helpless to feelings as new and ripe as seeds in May.
You fret because you hurt me, but it is this pain that I accept, for it’s a price of the honesty I ask from you.
I wish I could say these truths didn’t hurt me, but it’s far better than living in ignorance and it’s fruit of betrayal.
Scaring easily is not how I wish to describe myself, but I trek in unknowns, and a better source of fear is yet to be revealed.
We fight time, as it constantly seems to be not on our side.
The virginity of youth has passed between us, and the new path of intimacy is a road I walk blind.
I’m learning as I go, but I need to stop leaving breadcrumbs to the place before the trail.
I wish I could allow myself to just slip into trust and comfort for the rest of our days.
But there are moments that challenge my new formed habits, and I fall back into insecurity.
Anxiety is truly a bad companion on our journey.
As close as we may be, we are still two people who’ve grown in separate lives, but we must face our individual challenges together.
I never ask you to go back on what progress we’ve made so far. Please don’t.
But trivial as certain things may seem, they crack the pot of intimacy that we formed together, at least in my head.
And so I begin anew, sculpting my trust back into this clay.
It’s not your fault, I break my own part of the pot far too much with my worries about what your hands are doing.