As the words tumbled from your mouth, a laugh stumbled from mine. Don’t mistake me, I’m not mocking, only denying. Denying the idea that somone like you could fathom the idea, the notion and myth that you could possibly fall for me. Ha.
That’s where you fall down, where your weakness is. Yes you may have more knowledge of things I’m only just discovering, but I have more knowledge of myself. Something you’ve only just found. I see in your eyes that you truly belive you could love me, more than you already do. In a way neither of us planned to use.
You see the thing is, it’s not me, it is you. It is the way you love, it is the way you want to love and it is the only way you know how to. But I can’t be loved like that. I never have and never will. I’m not a dainty and elegant thing that can be loved by all and respond in the way they need. I’m not a rougue and wild woman whose lover loves her from a distance and that is enough for the both of them. I’m not the young sweet love which will last forever as long as you are happy. I’m not the tender caring love or the passionate and wild. I’m not the doomed or forbidden or the destined and desired. I’m none of the things that you understand about love. I’m all of the things you don’t.
I am person who cannot accept love, of any type, in any form, within any life time. I blossom in the idea that I could receive your love the way you desired. But I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to take a man such as yourself, and turn him into a boy. I wouldn’t know how to love you so that you became the best of us. I don’t understand how to make you feel the way you want me to feel. I would do your love no justice, and that is something at which you laugh.
A person such as yourself is a blessing. Although you’ve lived through moons and starts and seen the worst of this world and of others, you still have a glimmer of hope that love conquers all. Another stumble.
Love does not conquer all, my dear, love is just the bandaid, the plaster, the cotton wool to put on a wound. All it does is shelter and protect something vulnerable. Love does not heal the wounded nor does it save them. It merely provides a basis for the weak and broken to try and fix themselves.
Which is why I cannot accpet your love. Which is why I must tell you “no” when you offer to me your heart, I would do you no justice and despite my yearning to be loved by you, to wake up next to your lips and to dream in your arms. Despite my body craving every inch of yours and my mind wanting to intertwine itself with yours. Depite my wanting whats best for you and caring for you no matter what state we may be in.
I must deny myself your unconditional offer. I cannot allow myself to be loved by a man like you, because if I did it would only be a waste of something so rare and intimate. So human and naïve, so pure and homely.
I must deny your love, my love, I have to. Im not ready to try and fix the wounds of years before. My wounds have become scars that run deeper than oceans on planets and abyss’s that duldge further than the boundaries of the earth. My scars can’t be fixed, soothed or remedied. I’m hopelessly broken but I’ve learned to live like this and this is how I shall continue to do so.
But I must thank you for giving my fractured ways a glimmer of warmth and hope, and maybe one day that will be enough to help my scars fade. And if they do, well, then maybe I would have learnt something new.