— Katharine Keegan

I’ve stopped being afraid to be me. The dark me, the sad me, the messy me. Not that I don’t like to treat myself sweet. Treat myself with love and care.

But perfection striving was killing me. A year ago I tried to dive into another person, let him hold and care for parts of me. Several days, husky voices trading secrets. His brother died by suicide a couple days after I clung to him in the snowy parking lot of one of the oldest bookstores, after a picnic in the parking lot of longwood, and hand holding and sweet smiles. I didn’t ever hear his voice or see his face again. Maybe he moved back up north, may it all was too much and I wasn’t right in time.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be right in time. I don’t think someone can love me like I love me.

If they want to they will.

What if I want them to and they don’t or may they want to and I don’t want them to? Do I want my heart at ease, or do I want it to be grabbed up. Fairy tales, Snow White’s wanted heart. A nonconsensual unconscious kiss.

The awkwardness of a kiss wanted, and a kiss granted. A kiss given and received. A kiss shared.

A life shared. More hurt that way. Is the hurt worth the life? Is the life worth the hurt. When does your hurt become a weapon you weld against your lover.

I want to steal love, a thief in the night. I want it in the glaring brightness of the morning. I want to know someone wants the best for me and me for them, and I want to greedily snatch up every fucking second of intimacy while doing it.

However, I’ve realized one of the most intense parts of loving me, is my intensity. Trust me, I, of everyone knows the grimy and beautiful ins and outs of loving me.

I supposed welcoming someone to me gets harder each time, especially when it feels better just to find love and beauty in my life as I have it, as apposed to this at times demoralizing back and forth.

Getting to know someone until something about you doesn’t seem worth the effort anymore.

I wonder what it would feel like to be loved by me when you’ve never experienced it before.

Maybe it’s something to run too. Maybe it’s something to run away from.