Why do we grow? Is it a happy consequence of awareness? A perfectly orchestrated symphony? A story yet to be told?
My stomach churns at the possibilities. The idea that I could mean so much scares me.... the thought that I could be anything less crushes me.
I feel. I feel so much I'm ready to dissappear any instant. I feel so much I'm excited to know another day.
It's so difficult to embrace these feelings in a world that looks negatively on emotions. Any expression of their colors is seen as childish. Any expression of their shapes is seen as reckless.
I love you. I love how flawed you are and how you struggle to stay alive. I love how, no matter how wounded you are, you keep trying to find a way to live. I love how scared I am that I care too deeply and my faith may be betrayed at any moment.
I feel my heart racing and butterflies fill my stomach. My breathing becomes erratic. I can't fathom becoming someone special.
And yet because I know misery. Because I know this anger and disgust. Because I know my choices have shaped this contempt.
I must grow to be by their side. Either live surrounded by butterflies, or grow to believe I am someone special.
Hold me. Cherish me. Love me.
Ground me in the reality I've blinded myself from. Be the path I can trust so I may run with eyes closed. So I can fall and feel seen.
So life will be my tender lover.