I feel terrible for pushing him away; for the way I push and shove and keep him at a distance.
I’ve done this dozens of times. He won’t let me do it to him, he says. I laugh because they all say that.
I self-destruct. I don’t know what to do with my pain, and so I turn it back on myself. I make them leave, then I tell myself I deserved it, that it was bound to happen.
It’s been three months. Three months of calling me beautiful, inside and out. From stopping my wounds from bleeding out with his bare hands. Telling me he can handle what I throw at him, that he’s not leaving no matter how much my subconscious tells him to.
He has his own troubles. I feel selfish. He’s dealing with more than me. I’m so scared that he’ll look at me and see that truly, I am not worth it.
I want him desperately.