just like you, i'm scared

For you, I would tattoo me
With lines crossing into a hand, And a heart that would never bleed.
The twilight and the horse
Drawn on my arm
Standing for an addiction,
Pray we go unharmed.
Here is my love and anger
These are my gods, these are my scars.
Here is my love and anger
My arms are burning, but they're open wide
Some things, I hold too tightly,
Some things, I'll never I'll never touch.
I'm wearing down the stones
In the river
All my life, i've painted
With anger's brush
Here is my love and anger
These are my gods, these are my scars.
Here is my love and anger
My arms are burning, but they're open wide

Oh, you precious kid
I have a motion just for you.
A warrior, barefoot and dancing
With tears of pain and beauty
All of this is true for you

Here is my love and anger
These are my gods, these are my scars.
Here is my love and anger
My arms are burning, but they're open wide
Pointing out the graveyards
I will be the reaper
If you will be
The keeper of my heart

I am reminded of another weekend years ago. I kept walking away from a boy who did nothing but give me patience and understanding. Even when he discovered my unspeakable secrets, when I was certain this would scare him off, would maybe make him hate me, he drew me closer still and said he loved me. This was a boy who did not take declarations or promises dismissively. Unlike most people, he considered the things he said carefully and at length, and if he finally concluded that yes, this was what he really felt or wanted to do, and he could do good on it, only then would they be uttered. I cherished him for his absolute candor and the weight he afforded words, so unlike with most people, I believed it when he told me, "I love you."

But back then, my confidence was mostly painted on--a very convincing mural. You could only see the fissures if you looked very, very closely. The infrastructure would reveal crumbling plaster, the patchwork of temporary repairs that held the whole pathetic mess together. My life was a performance even I'd convinced myself of.

I don't know why I kept walking away from him. Partly out of fear, cowardice, chaos. Partly for the assurance he would always follow behind me, tap me on the shoulder, arms outstretched to welcome me back. I will be the first to admit this trust test was abysmally constructed. But once, I pushed away too hard and walked too far.

"Do you really mean what you're saying?" he asked me earnestly.
"Yes," I'd responded because I couldn't stop myself. A little girl pirouetting too fast.
"That's a shame.... but I respect that. And I want you to know, I respect you still."

When I finally let myself turn around, all I could see was his back walking the other way, walking that way ever since, until there was nothing at all left of him in my life. I had thought at the time that he'd failed the test, that he did not really love me. But I understand now how he felt--the conviction in his words and the torment in his leaving.

I cannot keep chasing as much as it would break my heart. We are not made to pursue people but to follow ideals and dreams, hopefully together.

I have watched eyelids soft in sleep and loved him; I still do.