While I still lack resolve,
let me say this:
there is something about
when you say my name
that strikes fear in me;
because the next words out of your mouth
are always the truths I’m not ready to hear
like you care,
like you’re here because you want to be.
But what’s even worse,
is that I believe them
—that we find ourselves
listening to playlists
in the back seat of my car,
where I got excited over choirs
where your fingers are making circles on my skin
and I’m talking a mile a minute
and when I apologize for it,
you laugh. Say: “you’re fine”
(though I know it)
I tell you: “I know I’m too much to handle”
only to have you negate it.
Three weeks ago I told you
I loved you,
not expecting to hear you repeat it.
for the first time in a long time,
you gave me a reason to believe it.