v u l v a l i c i o u s
I was trying to share something good. This little bright spot, this secret thing I had been holding cupped in my hands all day. It was so good, kept me bubbling up when I needed to.
So I wanted to share it with you. I wanted you to tell me it sounded nice, my secret. My not secret, really. I wasn't hiding anything. Not much, no.
And I spilled it out over dinner. I tried to be casual, but I was smiling. Could you not see that I was smiling? I was fizzing a bit, just barely carbonated. That feeling of newness and excitement.
You didn't like it. Appraised my secret and told me it was mostly worthless. Urged caution. Counseled closeness, strictness: the way you would do it, if you were me.
And I wish I had kept it quiet. I should have held back, kept it pocketed. Pulled it out alone and smiled to myself. Like I do. But I hate hiding from you, hate keeping these things to myself. I want to share all of me. Or I want to want that. At least I think I do.
But you make it hard for me. Days like this when you swing back so far away from who I thought you were. The nights when we talk and you tell me you want safety, the ease and comfort of everything we already have. And all I want is to run through the clearing and find out what's next. I want the future. Our future, yes. But not if you won't come with me.