He said, "ma cherie.": I’m not ready for love again. I’m nowhere near ready. I’ve come to...
I’m not ready for love again. I’m nowhere near ready. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I can’t afford to pour my heart out to a single person with the slim hope that he may accept all of me and I do the same and we just gaze into each other’s eyes and announce to the world that we’ve fallen for one another. The notion, if you think about it, is a bit incredulous; it would be really nice if things worked out that way, I admit, but really, that would be nothing short of a miracle.
Although my fragile heart may be too afraid to open itself and release everything all at once, it is willing to take baby steps.
I can do coffee and frozen yogurt dates and staring at each other from across the table and giggling at each other’s secret fears. I can do scary movies and sappy romance movies and squeezing each other’s sweaty palms both out of excitement and just for the hell of it in the privacy of the theater. I can do cuddling on couches and beds and hammocks and cautiously leaking out secrets about myself as you play with a strand of my hair and stroke my cheek while you just listen quietly, nodding your head and slowly learning of the disaster that is me. And accepting me. Hopefully. Little by little. And I can certainly do sweet gestures like forehead kisses and tip of the nose kisses and collarbone kisses and bellybutton kisses and just kisses everywhere.
I can eventually do it all, even maybe perhaps fall in love with you, if you just give me a little time.
(via skye-miller)
