Thinking about you has become my worst fear. It’s an unsettling feeling that burns through the lining of my stomach. I hate it. I hate it so much that I bring my head to my knees and wait for it to pass like a storm outside my window. I let the acid settle and wait for my lungs to fill again. I always feel sorry after. I don’t want to erase you. But you uproot parts of me I buried long ago, and thought decayed before we met. 

Truthfully, you’re the one thing that lets me know that there is more outside of my crowded dopey head. I can’t let those words get past the base of my brain. If I were to, I would have to open my palms up to the sky and admit to the world I trust you. If you turn a blind eye, I won’t be able to keep the pain at bay anymore. It will wear me away like the rocks on the shore of the beach we walk on. I kick the ocean-worn rocks as you lecture me with philosophy written by some balding, saggy-skinned man centuries ago. You speak so enthusiastically and I laugh underneath my breath and tell you that just because one person says so doesn’t mean it’s true. You say I’m right, but you don’t believe me. 

I can’t help but think you look at me the same way: blind faith in a bird with a broken wing. Just because I once flew doesn’t mean I ever will again. You insist I will and smile so full I’m sure your face will crack open. 

I don’t understand why you care so much, why you’re so sure of what you believe, or why every time you see me you look like you just found an old favorite shirt between the crack of your bed and the wall. I don’t understand why my name from your mouth sounds different from the one my mother gave me. The way you say it makes me believe it’s much more. 

Maybe I’m being selfish. Maybe I’m imagining something that isn’t truly there. Maybe that’s something we both have in common. 

I wish you could plant yourself in the space between my ribcage and grow until your petals reach the corners of my brain. Then I’ll cough up daisies. The grass on my lawn will turn green from my buried hatchets and I’ll finally understand why you have so much faith in people you don’t know. We’ll laugh at the same jokes. Knowing you will be as easy as skipping rocks on water. But I can’t push daisies through my skin, so, please, tell me you’ll wait until I can.