only a few days ago i described this love as amazing, unique, because i have been loved without question, tirelessly. no one before has ever been able to sustain such feelings. i am exhausting, i know.
i never try to ruin it. i am too afraid, too stupid, to even know what i'm doing as i do it. but i clutch, and plead, and cry -- even if nothing is out of place.
my worst characteristic is probably my talking. i say so much, sometimes in innuendo but also directly. i can't explain it anymore. all i know is that i say very few negative things, and reveal no secrets, although i classify almost nothing as secret. i talk about my love and my fear. i want reassurance that the love was real. has he been with others? with you? do you think he loved you? does he love me? why does it hurt so much?
and there is a knowing, all of them noticing every glance, that would not be if it were not for my communicated worries. this is the crime that can't be understood. it is so vague, but i know it is real because it makes me ill to think about it. i know i have betrayed. i know if he witnessed any one of these thousands of words shared, he would be hurt.
i said i don't acknowledge much as secret. i really only needed to keep one thing quiet, and that is my love itself. i gave it away, everyday. i'm so sorry. now i weep for all the little pieces i've lost.
i don't know how to love.
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