Thursday, 12 January 2012

046; You make me break all my rules.

I'm tired; of the past I can't leave behind, of all this back and forth, of the way you act, of how you make me feel, of my insecurities and my sudden mood swings (one day I'm afraid I'll give myself whiplash.) All I want is to lay in your arms, your body surrounding me--a safe haven, somewhere to rest, and for you to whisper in my ear that you care, you care and you love me, that you won't let anything harm me (not even myself), that I need to stay with you or you'll die, that I'm too good for this, that you want to keep me safe. Keep me in your arms, and in your heart.
If I could have this, then maybe nothing else would matter. Maybe the self-hatred would simply fall away, fall off the edge of the world, like the sun beyond the horizon. Maybe you could heal these scars with your fingers and lips. Maybe your embrace would keep my nightmares away. Maybe your voice could still my demons. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Maybe I'll never stop hating myself for feeling this way.)

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