You scare me.
With the ease by which we melded into each other.
With your warmth and attention.
With the comfort that you gave.
And I’m scared.
Because it’s far too easy for me to be affectionate.
Or for me to lower my guard and let you in.
But most importantly with how attached I can be.
Because once I become attached, I’d develop an emotional investment.
And it’ll lead to expectations, then later on to demands.
Which when unfulfilled would only be destructive – and it will be unfulfilled, believe me.
Because what you offered, more than anything else, was physical comfort in the form of a caging embrace.
And it’s addictive. It brought up that weakness in my soul, slithering in my thought like something I could never get rid of.
It ignite the yearning for more, and time cruelly turn it into desperation.
I want you, and I want to be your object of affection so I can rest safely in your arms.
But it won’t do, we both know better than that.
So maybe we should take a step back, distance ourselves, and reevaluate everything.
It’s far too early, I know, but it’s better to be safe than let this mess grow.
None of us need the additional baggage from a relapse anyway.
Especially when you’re off the table like this.
À la mort,
The canary who had enough of coal mines.