he looked at me as if i was poetry
and he held me.
he held me as if my thorns weren't there, as if they didn't even touch him,
when they actually hurt him, cut him almost as deep as my wounds that he's been trying to heal.
but he stayed
through the drought and the hurricane.
he bled for me, he held me through my insanity.
and i've never been so afraid,
i'm afraid he's going to love me.

—k. aoife maude
i'm afraid i'll hurt him even more.