You want to love me, and I can’t stop you. I can reject your advances, ignore you completely, or be a straight up b*tch, and yet you keep trying. I can do all of these things, but I can’t stop you from developing feelings for me. So you want to love me…and I’m going to let you.
Everything will not be rainbows and butterflies. At times I will be cold, aloof, or act like I don’t care as much as you wish I would. And I won’t care. This is just the simple truth. I have suffered irreparable damage. Someone, long before you, some time far in the past— but still not far enough— hurt me. Changed me. Ruined me. For a very long time. I’ve struggled for years to rebuild the pieces inside of me that were stolen, and I will likely fight that battle for the rest of my life. I want to love again. I’m just not as ready as I wish I was.
You are smart, and funny, and caring. You try to lift my spirits when I’m down and bring me soup when I’m sick. You are considerate of my feelings and you listen when I speak. You’re a quick study; you notice the little things. You will make a great husband to a very lucky girl one day, and it will be a privilege to call you a friend.
I am not that girl, and truthfully, most of the time I don’t want to be. If I let you in, it will be for a little while, and then I will let you go. A relationship with a broken girl like me is likely not built to last. And part of me is hoping maybe you can help me learn how to open up again, so that when I find my future husband, I’ll be ready for him. I promised I’d never lie to you, never string you along, and to always be brutally honest. So this is it.
If you want to love me, I’m going to let you, but it will get ugly. There will be times when you text me to say you miss me that I will cringe, toss my phone aside, and walk away to do something else. There will be times you ask to see me, hold me, and crack a beer with me that I will make up every excuse in the book to avoid. There will be times you ask me to dinner or coffee, and I will rudely turn you down, in favor of hanging out with my friends.
You will not be a priority in my life, because I am simply not built that way. I am a daughter, a friend, an (un)official investigator, and a student. I am not yours. I am, and will always be, mine alone. I belong to myself. And while I will try not to use you, just know that I may. I may rely on you for things I have no right to rely on you for: rides, coffee, praise I don’t deserve, and sometimes a verbal punching bag when I’m stressed. You won’t deserve any of it. You’ll never deserve any of it.
In the beginning you asked if I could handle you. I retorted that you should be worried about dealing with me, that handling you won’t be a problem, because I am the worst of the worst. You’re looking to fight an unwinnable battle, but if you want to suit up, I won’t stop you. This is my warning to you: I may break you. I don’t want to, but if at the end of the day you still want to try, I’ll let you. It won’t be pretty, and when it ends— because it will end— it will end with you cursing my name.
Are you ready? I’m not.
