I don’t want to talk about love I want to talk about the shields you’ve used since preschool to defend yourself
What habits were you forced to create from such a young age you will only recognize them for what they are if you get called out on it
I want to discuss the weapons hanging on your wall I want to know why you depict cutting your brother out of your life with a ****** iron pipe
Why does your hand race to your hip searching for a holstered handgun whenever someone says the word “father” and who was the one they found dead at the scene
Maybe instead we should talk about the security system you’ve been so intent on keeping running from sheer willpower and why you feel like you need to be watched so closely
Darling love feels like learning all of these things so that we can put them all away without your lungs sealing themselves shut
It can make you sick like you’ve been caught in the middle of a tornado that you knew was coming but still caught you off guard
That moment after you hand over the keys you’ve guarded so closely for years with shaking hands until theirs close over yours and their lips meet your forehead
It’s the grove you find after those moments where you rest your head on its softest grass with morning dew clinging to your hair
But first we lock away the weapons
You don’t need them anymore
~W.C.