If I’m being completely honest, am terrified of falling in love with you.
You are not the perfect guy, in fact, you’re a damn mess. And I know this. But I still can’t get you out of my head.
You are that ‘bad boy’ persona, you know, the type I always trip over. You have it all together on the outside, but I know there’s a weaker, gentler inside and I can’t help but want to peel back those layers, see the real you.
But I know I shouldn’t.
You keep yourself guarded, hide behind vices and women and lies—all the things I know will destroy me—but I’ve always been a fixer. I’ve always had a reckless heart.
You are the guy with the tough exterior, the one who pushes everyone away, the one who smokes cigarettes and stays up late and plays with girls emotions just because he can.
I know this because I see it. Because I’m always on the fringes, shaking my head, telling myself no, no, no but knowing I’m falling just the same.
I’m terrified of you. Of those ice blue eyes, of those strong legs, of those thick arms. Of the way your mind works and how it would twist mine into knots, if I let you.
I don’t want to let you.
But that’s the thing about being a strong woman. You think you’re strong enough to handle the darkest places.
You are scary. But I see through your surface. I know that once you crack, you’re just like all the others. We’re all broken in some way, aren’t we? It’s okay to love broken people—this I tell myself when I’m trying to rationalize loving men that destroy me.
This is the mantra I whisper when I’m thinking about you.
Maybe I’ll smarten up. Maybe I’ll set my phone down and stop texting you. Maybe I’ll search for gold instead of cheapened silver. Maybe I’ll stop trying to make something shine that was meant to be tarnished.
But right now, I’m caught up in my own heart. Praying for a way out, yet hoping that you’ll kiss me all the same.
I’m terrified of falling in love with you. But we both know it’s too late.