At first, all my thoughts turned to dust. Then the voice in my head went quiet, receding in volume inch by inch; so faint I couldn’t even hear it at night. I want you to look at me straight in the eyes when I say this. I have to leave because you make me feel invincible. The moment I met you I stopped wearing seatbelts. I left wounds exposed. I suspended off balconies. I cut off any friend with a single trace of defect, because, why did it matter? At the end of the day there you stood, touching me like a statue in the middle of the room. Gawking at me like a goldmine, frantically taking me in as if you were running out of time. And you were. I can’t stay because you make my heart malleable; vulnerable to change at the blink of an eye; melting in your hands; running through your fingers. I’m sorry. I’m going to go now. And it’s not because I’m unhappy, or because I don’t love you, but rather because of what I’m turning into. You make me soft and blurry and muddled at the edges, and I simply can’t afford it. I can’t afford to be water around you. Not as a rain cloud. Not with a body all made up of tears.
Unknown (via boytired)