i can’t sleep. and this couch is nothing like your arms. it’s early, or late, because i never really went to bed. fear. it runs me. it keeps me hiding, keeps my mind clouded, keeps me reaching for you in the dark. it’s suffocating, and you aren’t really there, and i’m getting up to go to work again.

i can pour my heart out. i’ll give you the truth. i at least owe that to you. you ask none of the right questions, but its time i stopped waiting for your questions to be perfect and started just telling you everything. i constantly have these thoughts bouncing around in my head, and they’re never quiet unless i am writing. i want to write. i want to write forever, and let every thought in my head pour from my fingertips. my mouth like a typewriter, your ears like the page. 

i want to whisper into your cheekbone, kiss your neck, fall asleep in your arms, and know that i don’t deserve you, but you are here anyway. i’m chasing the ambulance, and drinking wine, and watching as something dies within me. i keep making messes, and turning heads, breaking hearts and taking names. and none of this is making me happy. i’m reaching, and there isn’t anything there for to me grab.

you like it when i call you baby, don’t you? you’ve called me that. or some variation of it. i need to stop running. but i’m not sure how to stop. you asked me once what type i am. and i’m not really sure. but, in the interest of being honest, i’m that girl. you know, THAT girl. the one that you fell for, but it never really could all come together, and there are a lot of reasons for it. i’m not sure if they let go of me, or forget me, but you can be damn sure that none of them kept me. until now.

i think i’m ready to be kept. i might have made some interesting decisions leading up to this point. but i’m ready to stop running. i’m tired, and my legs feel heavy. loving me takes a strong person. someone who can hold me up but still see the real me. someone who can balance the open handed and the open hearted. you have to balance on the tight rope of loving me completely and letting me feel free. you can’t clip my wings, but you can’t let me roam too far either. you need to be reliable and keep your promises, you have to be willing to follow me anywhere, you need to have your own life, your own friends, but accept that i have that too. you need to understand when i laugh at your jealousy, but take mine very seriously. you need to do the dishes when i cook you dinner. or pie. or whatever. 

i’m going to hate the day you move on. i’m going to think she doesn’t deserve you, that she isn’t as good as i might have been, but we’ll never know now. maybe she’ll hold your hand, kiss your forehead, be everything to you i couldn’t be. i bet she won’t smoke, won’t curse, won’t rip apart at the seams, or cry when you insult her. but i will hate her for being this, and hate her for being better than me.

because she could be perfect, but she’d still never deserve you.