I don’t know how many times the phrase ‘I’m struggling’ has scrolled my mind, those neon words bulletined across my temporal lobe; a state that never sleeps.
I cannot tell you.
I cannot tell you that I’m sick.
I cannot tell you that today I’ve run to the bathroom more times than I care to recall, the fear of my loosened bowels giving way to my anxieties.
I cannot tell you that I cannot sleep.
That I’m hesitant to close my eyes because I’ll struggle at chasing the peace that comes so easily to you.
I cannot tell you that loving you betrays who I am.
That every time that I’m forced to calm my flight instinct, I’ve chosen you over my own natural disposition.
I cannot tell you that I do not trust you, and that I never will.
I cannot tell you that I’m angry. I’m angry that you aren’t the man that you auctioned yourself off as. I’m angry that I placed my bid on a facade. I’m angry that I went ‘all in’ on your bluff.
And lastly, I’m terrified.
I’m terrified of your shadow. I’m terrified of the man that lingers past the mirage. I’m terrified at the monster that you are when no one is looking…but mostly, I’m terrified that I love you regardless.