I don’t know why, above all things, love should be fair to me.

To me.

Who has probably never been fair to anyone who’s cared for me in my entire life. I’m far too blind to wait for anyone that’s been trying to catch up with me and far too impatient to work and get anyone to slow down enough for me.

And I still cling to the idea that love should be, above all things, fair to me.

And, really, how do you say, “I look at picture of you and it hurts my chest how badly I want you. Any of you you’re willing to give me and I don’t mean to beg, and I don’t want your pity, but I want you so badly it feels like it’s burning my skin inside out.”

And really, how do you, in turn, say “I genuinely like your attention and your regard for me and I wish I was a good enough person to love you the way you love me, but I’m not and likely will never be, but don’t stop because it’s worth it to me to keep you hanging around.”

Love shouldn’t make you a terrible person, but I’m a worse person the more I try to reach out and pull people down because I catch all the wrong ones. I don’t let them go and I say things I will never mean. Because I just want to someone to hear me so badly. Not even to listen, just to hear.

But my chest really does cave when I’m unprepared to see your face. It’s not a heart racing thing, that’s all fine and well, it feels like my heart just ceases to be when I can see her.

And when has that ever been fair?

To me.