The tingles down my spine are both familiar and strange.
The swarms of butterflies anxiously rattling my ribcage are foreign.
The crimson in my cheeks rarely makes a debut.
The "L" word has only escaped my throat once upon a time,
When I thought I was sure.
But I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I was ever sure.
I'm afraid that I don't know how to feel; how to let things be.
I'm afraid of trapping myself in.
I've locked myself away and hidden the key. I'm scared to look.
If I find it, I'll feel exposed.
But isn't that how you're supposed to feel? When you want to let someone in?
I'm putting all my faith in the universe.
I cross my fingers and wish on stars and pray for courage, for fearlessness, for fierceness.
I will myself to believe that it will all work out in my favour,
But I tend to make quite a mess of things.
I don't want to do that anymore.
I want to let myself just feel.
-B.
