You keep giving me
pieces of you each day
that seem too fragile
as I keep them hidden in my heart
from people's hungry eyes.

You keep lending me
your heart instead of mine.
It's stronger; it's been through a lot,
and ever since, your heart
has been our ground work.

You keep telling me
your secrets that I preserved
day by day into my soul,
scrutinizing them zealously,
careful enough never to hurt you.

You keep sharing with me
your scientist's mind, your constellations,
your belief in the big bang, your disbelief
in what caused it, yet I promised
to never judge. I never did.

You keep demolishing me
in ways you never knew possible,
and I am left flustered.
After every clandestine unleashed,
I happen to yet not be good enough.

Because you keep hurting me,
and I keep feigning being well,
and you keep wanting me
to change who I am.

But oh darling, have you ever once thought of
how I admired you for all that you are,
not for all I wanted you to become?

You keep making my head ache.
You keep making my heart beak.
You keep making me believe that
I fall too easily,
yet I am not so easy to fall in love with.