Hi, Hey, Hello!
‘Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second’
It’s a slight problem.
More accurately, she is a slight problem.
For me that is.
I mean other people wouldn’t see it as such, in fact they would probably welcome this mind of thing. I’m not even completely sure why I see it as such a problem.
She’s just a girl.
A girl who seems to ask a lot of questions.
She’s fascinated with ‘getting to know me’. And every time I go to insist that she already does know me she just says “no I want to get to know the real you”.
And well…I don’t even think I know the real me.
I wouldn’t even know where to start with figuring that out.
How did I let that happen?
How did I build up the walls protecting myself so high and so thick and so impenetrable that not even I can get past them anymore to who I really am?
I mean I could tell you the basics, no questions asked.
Height, age, name, profession. I could tell you where I grew up, where I studied, what my degree is in. What my favourite colour, favourite food, favourite form of exercise is. They are easy to answer, if you spend enough time with me you could answer them yourself.
I could even give you an opinion. The bare bones of an opinion I’m aware, but an opinion nonetheless. And anyway, in my experience the bare bones are usually enough. Most people don’t tend to pry after that much.
Not her. No, she asks follow up questions. Countless follow up questions. It borderlines annoying. Would be from anyone else but her I feel. She wants to know all the ins and outs of my thought processes. She’s interested in me. I can’t figure out why, but I do know that she seems to show no signs of stopping.
She’s just chipping away at the wall. With a tiny pick axe. And I can tell that’s she doing that. I can feel her doing it. With every silence she just doesn’t fill after I give her an answer to a question a new dent appears. With every piece of myself I subconsciously and willingly give to her, the crack in the wall gets longer and deeper. With every instance that we spend time together I can feel her getting closer to the centre. The unmarked, unguarded centre. The most unprotected part of me there is. The only unprotected part there is. The part that I refuse to venture in to myself. I fear it. I’m scared that if I go in to the only part that I’ve left open to injury, I’m not going to like what I find.
She’s making me go there. Just by knowing her and being around her, she is making me go there.
I’m finding things out about myself that I never knew. Things I’ve never bothered to try and get to the bottom of. I deemed them unnecessary. I had who I was and who I was could take on anything that was thrown at me. I had an answer for everything and had curated the perfect external image. I cared, but I never openly cared too much. I gave away little pieces of myself, but never pieces that could be used against me. Never anything that could hurt me. I had found the perfect balance so that I could never get hurt.
She could hurt me. I knew that much from the moment I met her and she just keeps proving it with every hit she cleanly strikes against the fort. And I’m almost helpless to it.
I’ve tried to resist and to push and use all my other usual effective tricks to no avail.
She’s got the guards to slowly drop.
For every silence I leave empty, I notice her eyes quietly fill with sadness that I’m not at least trying. And for every time that I do give a little bit of myself up I notice the corners of her mouth turn up slightly and her eyes fill with warmth.
It’s that look that gets me every time. Every. Single. Time.
It looks an awful lot like love. Or something that could turn into that. Something that could grow behind these walls.
And the very something that I have expertly carved my life to avoid.
I’ve never known it, love that is, to be given so freely. To be accepted so freely. I cannot understand why anyone would want to let that kind of hurt and pain and emotion into their lives willingly. Why it is apparently the thing that we as humans, living beings, crave the most in the world.
To love and to be loved.
It’s the thing that is written about the most, it is romanticised and used to conjure up beautiful images and is the basis of all pieces of literature that are considered truly ‘great’. Classic.
Yet all I’ve known of love is pain. And yes, I see that talked about but everything always seems to conclude that it’s worth it nonetheless. All that pain and hurt and torment is worth it in the end. Because there’s always one. Always one who will make you see the rose tinted light.
And I laughed at that notion. I brushed it off. No-one was going to break down my walls. No-one would have the correct equipment. The only love I was ever going to invite in was the love that I eventually built for myself. I believed that. With all my heart, I believed that.
I was impenetrable. To every one, including myself I guess.
And apparently I was wrong.
Maybe blissfully wrong.
Or maybe I was right in the first place. Maybe the walls were necessary.
Only time will tell.
I hope I’m wrong.
Find me here: