I want to write about you, but it has me nervous. There's something so casual about it all. That lack of concern of words that flow through my lips has me nervous.
But then there's your lips, always sweetly touching mine. Touching me. Places that I forgot could be kissed. My hair. My forehead. My neck.
I don't want these feelings, in all honesty. I could do well without them. I don't need to like someone. I don't need to share a bed with someone. I don't need arms around me. I don't need your lips on mine. I don't need anyone's lips on mine.
But I like that yours are. I like that you want your lips to graze my body. I like that my jibber jabber gets smiles and sweet gazes. I like that you let me soak in the world, in the moment, and don't ask questions. I like that there's a hand there when I need it, and space when it's wanted. I like that you like me, but I don't like that I like you. It makes me nervous.
It's being vulnerable. It's allowing myself to truly be unguarded. It's believing your words, and having hope that one morning you don't just change your mind right after I decide to let you in. I don't want you to have that power. I don't want anyone to have that power. I wasn't always like this, and now it makes me nervous.
You make me nervous, but I think I like it.
l.shane
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