Do you remember the day my dad told me martial law might break out here, and that houses might start getting broken into? All I remember is how much I was crying, how hard my body was sobbing, how you drove when you could barely walk and how you walked in and just held me and how I’ve never felt safer than that moment. How you called when I was breaking down, no matter how far, how you always checked in on me and I wish I hadn’t messed those things up. I wish I could undo every nasty reaction that comes out of my body and I wish I could stop painting over the good feelings with ugly shades of myself because I can feel the way I drive people away. I can feel how unbearable my emotions are, how exhausting my words are, how difficult it is to love someone who never appreciates you for the way you love and I wish I had a million good reasons you should stay with me and stick it out, but there are a lot of days I can’t even convince myself of that.
So all I can do is say I’m sorry, over and over again until the words lose meaning, until my apologies become as exhausting as my outbursts, all I can do is slap my personality on the concrete like a wet towel and hope someday I stop being so fucking heavy and sad. All I can do is tell you that I’ve never been happier than the week I woke up next to you, that my whole body feels like a contortionist knot when I imagine not seeing you for months. I just want the world to revolve around the afternoon we drove across the bay bridge to see sadgirl, and I want to stop being such a fucking mess because I know I’m going to lose you and I can’t stand knowing it’s my fault.
I can feel the way I test your limits and I feel myself pushing and pushing and pushing too hard and I know you deserve better, and a lot of days I don’t even know what about me is worth keeping in your life because most days I don’t want to keep myself in my life. I spent years avoiding relationships because I know I do them wrong, and I know no matter who it is or how I feel I’ll find a way to fuck it up. But I think about the way you held me the day we drove to get my tire fixed. I think about how you always came to the things I was in, how you don’t ask me when’s a good time to call you just call and you call back and I knew I was completely fucked the night I met you because you’re the kindest, most interesting, most good hearted person I’ve ever met and I am just trying to measure up with words, and poems, and doodles, and pictures, and paintings I am just trying to offer you something that could possibly ever be enough for you to stay when all I do is crumble.
I think mostly that’s what I’m afraid of. That you’ll realize I’m not as cool as you thought I was, that I’m just fucked up and loud and lonely. I’m afraid of the moment you’ll see me sobbing and you won’t want to hold me anymore. I’m afraid because one day you’re not going to look at me and see something right, or real, or good, and I’m afraid that day might have already passed.