You see, he’s not perfect, and he doesn’t pretend to be.
He doesn’t feed me pretty lies or promise me forever.
He’s never looked at me in a way that made me feel small.
I have no reason to hate him. No reason to fear him.
And yet, I do.
Because eventually, somehow, they always do.
Or maybe I will before he gets the chance. My mind has never exactly been gentle with me either.
You see, I once believed in a love that felt perfect.
The kind that swore it was real, untouchable, invincible.
And I was naive enough to believe every word of it.
So when it finally showed me its true colours, I think part of me refused to see it. Even while it was destroying me.
It took forever to accept that the thing I loved could hurt me that deeply.
And by the time I did, I had the bruises to prove it. Quite literally, I bled for it.
After that, I promised myself I’d be more careful.
That I’d protect my heart properly this time.
The armour came on. The walls went up.
The war was over, and I survived it.
But somewhere along the way, I got tired of carrying weapons everywhere.
And now my armour is off.
The earrings are back on.
My guard is gone.
I was supposed to take care of myself better after everything I learned.
I was supposed to know better.
But then I had to be reckless.
And now here we are.
You have a piece of me, and I still don’t know whether that terrifies me or makes me feel alive again.
She Was Sea 