You know what I am afraid of?
I am afraid of meeting someone new.
And he would show up with flowers for no other reason other than to make me smile.
Take me to dinner and leave his untouched because he was too engrossed in my stories, that he would take me to the movies and watch me instead.
Terrified that he would make me laugh and lose my train of thought. Fascinate me with all that he knows and surprise me by admitting all that he doesn’t.
He might try to remember things like my favourite color or the fact that I don’t eat peas;
and make me wonder what it’s like to be unravelled and worshipped by his hands.
And at the end of the night, I am afraid that he would stand at the front of my door with hope in his eyes and the question on his lips:
“Would you let me in?”
And every fibre of my being would want to say yes.
To step aside and let him into the doorway of my home and my heart; to show him all the broken pieces and see if he’s any good with puzzles.
But I won’t.
Instead, I would kiss him on the cheek and thank him for a good night.
Then I would shut the door and him out – like I did to all the ones before him and after you.
My heart is so terrified of the fall that it no longer plays on the edge of love. It’s been down this road before, it’s seen the familiar signs and knows exactly how it would end.
My heart refuses to try again because it has run out of room for another souvenir of hurt.
I don’t resent you for all that you’ve done – for all that leaving, all that hurt, all that closure that you didn’t offer.
It doesn’t matter anymore that you didn’t want me.
I just wish you hadn’t ruined me for everyone else.
What if I keep looking back at what was,
and miss out on what could be?