You told me you love me. And I try believe you, I really do.
You look into my eyes and tell me I look like the rest of your life. You’re the sweetest.
But you haven’t seen me naked, you haven’t seen me cry, you haven’t seen me sad. What happens when you do and you realise it’s too much for you to handle. What if I have curves in all the wrong places? If I’m not “cute” when I cry? Because I can be like sand paper when I’m sad. Will you not only tolerate my stretch marks but love and run your fingers over them like a map to our forever. Will you hold me when my tears start to burn my eyes. On mornings when I’m too sad to get out of bed will you bring me honey tea and a book to read? Will you email me memes and puns during the day because you know they make me laugh? Will you come home with fuzzy socks in the middle of summer just to see my face light up?
I know you’ll love me at my best, because I will adorn and ravish you with every ounce of my being, but will you love at my worst? When I am nothing but harsh winds and hurricanes?
It is because of all these, that I am afraid of love, it could fade away when I take my dress off in front of you for the first time. Or have a breakdown in your arms. You could leave