Just make me feel safe. I don't feel safe with you. I don't feel safe with anyone. I'm not ready to be here and I want to be here. I want to be here with you, but I'm not ready. He's holding me back. The memory of him is holding me back. I'm not ready to let go. I'm not ready to drop everything and run into your arms. I don't want to be bound to you. I need to be free. But please make me feel safe. Tell me you're not going to hurt me and make me believe it. Tell me you'll follow me; that you're not ready to let me go. Commit to me even though I don't want to commit to you. Tell me you're ready because I'm not ready.
Kiss me. Dive inside me and let me feel what it's like to be close to someone again. Kiss me. Your tongue caresses my lips, my tongue. We intertwine like braided roots. I'll wrap an arm around your neck, just enough to keep you close to me, enough that I can still escape when it's time to run. Give me the chance to let go if I need to let go. Don't stop kissing me until then. Dip past my lips and press your hungry mouth against my throat. Show me your urgency, your desperation. Show me you want me. Your finger crooks under my chin, lifts my face, searches my eyes. I can't look at you. I'm afraid to look at you. That's okay. Everything is going to be okay.
The edge of your finger traces my clavicle, my shoulder, dancing down my side. You curve your palm around my breast. I haven't been touched like this in such a long time. I don't know that I've ever been touched just like this. I turn my eyes away, afraid to watch you, to look at you. Maybe I'm a little screwed up. Please let that be okay. Please don't stop just because I'm afraid to open my eyes. I'm afraid to open my eyes. My skin is gooseflesh, hot and so cold. Don't reject me. Oh please, don't stop because I'm not ready.
Your soft hand finds my face, masked and shut down, closed off and tucked away. You trace the bulb of my cheek, my dry lip. I'll react, kiss your knuckles, nuzzle your warm skin. I'm shivering. I don't know if I'm cold or just nervous. It doesn't matter. You kiss my flesh, though I'm ashamed of it. You find me beautiful. You don't tell me. I wouldn't want you to tell me, not now, not here. This is already so much harder than it should be, and why make it worse?
Every kiss seems sinful. Every touch brings fear. And yet, I know it's going to get better. It's you. I'm not afraid of you. I want you to have me, to want me, to thrill me. I want to make you happy and at the same time, allow myself that happiness. Too long I've been hiding myself away, waiting for forgiveness, for the guilt to pass. It may never. Maybe that doesn't matter as much as I thought it did. Maybe all that matters is that I'm not alone.
I've been thinking all this time, and I've been letting you in. And now you're in. The doors are unlocked, pushed open. We're letting the darkness in. I want to find myself able to look at you, but I can't. Your thumb slides up along the side of my face, brushes my temple. Look at me. I won't hurt you. It's only me. You're safe with me. And I can't and I can't and I can't and I can't.
But I do.