020315 Wonder, Worry.

Sometimes I wonder.

I wonder if everything that’s happened so far is actually real, or in fact one big lie that I’m being told.

What did I do to deserve this? I’ve told him so much – everything about the demons I used to (and still do) dance with. Why is he so accepting of it? I wonder why he sticks around when he knows that I am nothing more than shards of broken glass glued together in the pretense of trying to look like a mural.

Sometimes I worry.

I worry he’ll meet someone infinitely better than I am – smarter, prettier, skinnier – and realize that he could do so much better. I worry that he’ll grow bored of me.

I gave a friend an analogy of sorts – imagine a teddy bear that’s been torn apart and stitched back together, not perfectly but still mostly in one piece, albeit in a very ragtag manner. Then imagine another teddy that’s also somewhat stitched together but in a much better fashion than the first teddy and so looks much better put-together. How on earth would the two teddies look when placed side by side?

I shouldn’t say so much. I mean, I don’t really know his story, even up till now – it could be that he has a story to tell too and I just haven’t been listening.

I wonder why I tell him so much, why I even accept the fact that I’m seeing him. I wonder why I continue to look forward to seeing him so much, wonder why I smile without thinking when I see him, be it in person or as a string of words in my phone, when the shiny silvery voices laugh and sneer that he’s going to leave me when he grows bored.

I’m afraid to talk too much about him for fear of jinxing it – blue eyes still haunt me sometimes – and yet I’m afraid to stop talking about him for fear that he – this – might not even be real, that he might be someone I actually dreamed up. He’s not perfect, but sometimes he genuinely feels a little too good to be true.

Sometimes I wonder, sometimes I worry.

Why would someone like him want to be with someone like me?

I suppose I wonder because of this.

Am I cynical of this because I’m afraid?
Or am I afraid of this because I’m cynical?

Then again, I suppose that this is why I worry too.


When does the dream end; when do we wake up?

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