I don’t speak because I am stressed…
I’m stressed because I’m not expressing my anger…
I’m angry because I’m afraid…
I’m afraid that if I really did confront you with all the things that I see and feel then we’d have such an almighty row that you would never speak to me again, ever. That I would challenge you so much that you would shut me out permanently. That it would be my fault.
I’m ashamed how small and lost, how utterly desolate and purposeless that makes me feel.
And some people say it’s wrong to focus on one person, so I feel guilty about that, because nobody else inspires me, drives me, challenges or lifts me the way you do. I don’t love anybody else this way… not even me.
Way down at the root of it all, I fear I may be broken, so deeply and fundamentally broken that there is no hope, only pain. I fear I don’t know how to be myself, so I will never truly live. I pray to all that is sacred that this is not true.
But if not being broken means never loving anybody this deeply, this intensely, then I think I’d rather be broken apart to the very soul of me, and in love, than patched and whole and heart lonely.
Maybe, just maybe… maybe it’s possible to be open to the soul, shamelessly in love, and not broken. Maybe? Maybe all my many flaws are possible to heal, in time, in love.
Maybe if I’m big enough, strong enough, open myself wide enough, let enough of my soul shine through then all that will be left will be love, and that will be enough.
Maybe you will be there to see it… that’s up to you. All the rest is mine.
Curious… read this from the other point of view, and see how much is true