“They say that art is in the eye of the beholder,
And dear God you are perfect.”
A tender mouth once spoke these words,
The man attached to them equally tender,
Tired from the foes he has dealt with in the past,
And so loving.
I bask in his words,
I feel as though I deserve each one until
Until it speaks to me.
“Are you really perfect?”
“Is he just keeping you sweet in case he does something wrong?”
“How can you be perfect?”
“How can you; a worrying, childish, hormonal girl be perfect?”
These questions are batted around my head,
To him I say nothing for a while,
I just nod at what he says,
Whilst I sink deeper into his chest and my legs curl up towards my chest
To form a physical shield.
I do not deserve him.
I. Do. Not.
“I don’t deserve you.” I mumble almost bitterly into his ear.
He doesn’t hear me at first so I repeat, “I don’t deserve you.”
The words pick up pace when he still cannot hear me.
I shout the words out, relieving the stress that led to this conclusion.
His arms tighten around me.
I look up at his face; he seems to be broken by what I have said.
“You deserve better than me.” He spoke numbly, looking away.
This left me at a crossroads:
Do I keep us in the ditch between paths?
Should I just accept my feelings and stop him feeling so?
Or perhaps I need to help him and myself realise we are worth it…
“I’m sorry.” We blurt out together.
I then realised;
Our problems were one and the same.
I pulled his arms around me into a warm embrace.
The pain slipped away,
Just like that,
Like ice on a hot summer’s day.
Ballyrox Mind Blips 