I'm afraid that I'm pouring out all I have for people and like rain you can't return it to a cloud.

I'm afraid someday I'll meet someone who would pour out every last drop and I'll be dry and scarce and unable to see that that person is who I should have waited for.

I'm afraid I'm sometimes pouring over my edges for people who aren't catching anything I spill out, and when I find someone who will I'll be too empty to reciprocate.

I'll be a drought and he'll be a monsoon, and I'm really afraid that no matter how much pouring he may bring, it won't ease the fissures in my dried up foundations where my heart used to be a full, unpredictable ocean sometimes thrashing just to feel and instead would be the sun-cracked desert floor.

I'm afraid all of this pouring will leave me dry and someday someone will wonder if I ever even poured out my soul to anyone to begin with.