I’m afraid I’ll always be the one who loves harder and gets hurt for it.
I’m afraid every relationship I’ll never be the one who ends it.
I’m afraid to be too vulnerable, so sometimes I pretend not to care.
I let people close, but not close enough to hurt me.
I engage in unhealthy relationships because I’m afraid of the right one.
I let relationships linger that probably should have ended.
The words “just friends” never means just that.
I wear my heart on my sleeve.
But I try so hard to hide it.
I laugh like I’m okay with being alone.
But I hate waking up in a bed too big for one.
Or waking up next to someone and feeling alone.
I’m afraid I’ll meet someone I’ll start to care for.
So I run and ruin things before they begin.
I’m afraid to admit how I feel half the time, so I deny it.
I’m afraid of certain emotions, so I repress them.
Tucking them far into dark places making it hard to find.
I’m afraid that if I show someone who I really am, I’ll be met with either rejection.
Or maybe they will care too.
Maybe I’m afraid to gain something or someone.
Out of fear of losing them.
I’m afraid to pour my heart out.
And people take what they want from it and go.
I’m afraid to get my heart-broken.
Not just with rejection.
But when something goes too right in my life.
Suddenly I fear it.
I doubt it.
I question myself.
Wondering if I deserve it.
I’m afraid to admit I care.
Because if I admit I care, then someone has something over me.
I’m afraid to give pieces of my heart.
So I stay guarded.
I’m afraid to let someone in.
So I push them away.
But most of all, I’m afraid of the person who will see right through it.
The person who will stay.
Because it’s that person that’s going to hurt me the most.
The one who makes me feel things again.
The one who can pull out these emotions within me.
The ones I’m so afraid to show.
I’m afraid to care because every time I have in the past, it never ended well.
So I promised myself to be a little more guarded.
I promised myself to be a little more careful.
I promised myself to keep people at arm’s length.
Because then they can’t hurt you.
But what happens when the same thing you are afraid of is what can heal you?
I’m afraid. So I cling to other things.
The pain I’ve worn a little too comfortably.
Like that oversized sweatshirt with rips, I refuse to throw out.
I’m afraid to care because if I admit I care, then I have something to lose.
And if I have someone to lose, I’m afraid I’ll lose myself in an attempt to try to keep them. If ever they should go.