Better and Worse…

I got to admit it’s getting better… getting better all the time.

I go weeks without getting freaked out.  I can cuddle next to you and not feel sooper excited by the privilege or completelie wierded out.  I’m learning how to be with you without needing to be naked with you.  I’m learning that lack of energy does not indicate lack of desire and I’m even starting to enjoy not having sex with you.

I like when you kiss me and you take it to the point where you’re getting hard against me and I’m starting to melt against you.  And I know you can see it in my eyes that I want you but I like walking away.  It doesn’t mean I want you less, but that you’re worth waiting for.  And when we cuddle in bed at night, most of the time I’m not thinking about you naked.  And today for the first time I didn’t wake up to watch you change after your shower.

And this is better. 

But it’s worse too. 

I know I’m getting used to this.  I’m starting to believe that maybe this is the real thing.  And I know that I’m already picking at things, looking for bits that might fall apart if I poked hard enough… and then I start l seeing how hard is hard enough.  It usually takes me a year to get to this stage, but you’ve managed it in months.  I’ve never been so terrified in my life.  I’ve imagined us getting married.  I’ve thought about names for kids. 

I’ve never reallie looked at someone and tried to picture how we’d be in ten years, but with you I can see it.  And I’m scared.  There are things I’ve wanted fr as long as I knew it was possible to have them.  A house is one and you are the other.  And I’ve got you.  You care.  You LOVE me.  And I don’t know how to deal with it.  You’ve matured and changed and you’re a different person, but I’m not.  I’m the same girl I was in high school.

And I’m terrified.

I’m freaked out and I’m taking it out on you.  I don’t want to do it.  I want to stop.  I want to take the happiness and just go with it.  I always test these things to destruction.  I push and I shove and I poke and I pry and little by little things start to go bad.  It’s subtle.  I geuss if I wanted to be terriblie cruel, but honest, I could compare myself to lung cancer.  Maybe I’ve got a things for burning wreckage, but I hope that I can stop.

I hope that I can know that I’m doing it and see it and not do it.  That if I leave these things here I won’t have to push and pick and shove at the prettie picture until it crumbles into dust.  That if somehow I can take what I’m doing and slap myself for even thinking about it then I’ll stop.  I won’t pick or pry or pull.  I’ll learn how to just be happie like this.

Mostlie though, because I know myself, I’m hoping you don’t break… that this won’t break.

So you know… even if I pull at the frayed bits… just know that it’s not because I want them to come apart.

 

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About SleepieBear

Opinions are my own. Facts are poorly checked. (Unless cited.) Use your brains.
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