I know the way that you look at me when you don’t think I’m paying attention. I know the way it takes you just a moment longer than anyone else to convince yourself to pull away, when your pinky finger is just brushing mine— battling me for something insignificant, like your Tumblr tablet, and not something significant like my heart.
I do, I do, I do know. I know with desperate awareness that by some fluke of the universe you look at me on the edge of your hotel room bed wearing a sweater designed for a younger man and you think,
And I just want to push you against the wall, I want to shove you and the way you look at me until you reach the wall, shove you until some sort of understanding is knocked into that brilliant mind and tight little body of yours.
I need it right now.
Would you listen to me? I can’t give you any more than you already have. I need it to be mine. I cannot be yours. I need my heart because it is shattered into so many pieces— pieces that ring with goodbyes and disappointments and the people who were supposed to love me.
It’s not because I don’t know the way you look at me. I know.
I don’t want the kind of love where I have to hand over all the pieces of my heart.
You think I’m extraordinary but you don’t understand, you just don’t understand, listen to me because I need you to know that I cannot crawl into the warmth of your cotton sheets and stay there because I need to build a future for myself that is so much more than that.
Someday, maybe, I won’t have so many jagged mirror pieces for you to cut yourself on, the ones that weakened me, that reflect people who never took a real look at me. And tonight I want to kiss you in the foggy shadows of some old beautiful building, but the truth is I should put myself back together more.
I need you to know that I’m not going to give you my heart—
’cause where I’m going,
… I think I’m going to need it more. I think I’d get completely lost without it. And I’m tired of being afraid.