There was once a time I expected to become numb to the routines of the lifetime commitment that is marriage. Every passionate flame I had ever seen appeared to fizzle out over time. It was almost as if a lifetime of love was meant only for those who lived in between the pages of a book.
But then I met you.
At first, I had tried to hide behind the mask that everyone else seemed to approve of, but you were not as easily fooled. Somehow, you saw the cracks in my façade and sought out the girl behind the forced smile. Bit by bit, you removed the concealer that hid my scars and scratches, admiring each flow as if it were more beautiful to you than the painted expression I had displayed for so long.
I had tried to hide myself away when grief struck suddenly, but you found me and pulled me into your strong chest, holding me while I left your shirt drenched with my tears. While I worried what others would say, you insisted that you were more than willing to prove that they were wrong. When I shuddered at the darkness that crawled into my mind, you stuck around grasping a flashlight like a sword to fight my fears.
When I look at you, my insecurities melt away, your arms quickly becoming my safe haven. No longer do I dread falling into the routines of a long-term romance. Because we, my love, could never be boring.
YOU ARE READING
What I Once Called Love: The Drafts
PoetryThis is my story, or rather a compilation of stories that spans more than a decade. Each piece is written from a place of truth with the exception of the names mentioned. The book itself will broken into sections, with each representing a different...
