You told me I keep you on your toes and no woman has ever done that. You stay on guard because whenever, wherever, you want to be ready for whatever I pull out of my bag. Lol
Except when I look at you and sear away the bullshit and see you. Not what you can do for me or what you do for me, but I see you. Your flaws, your dirt, and I love you anyway.
I can’t read you most of the time. I know you. I see you, yet I can’t read you. Most men are as predictable as a recurring tv show formula. You have your ways that I see coming, but I see through them. I can’t read you and that makes me insecure. That makes me scared.
When I get inside my own head and wonder and stir me up, I have to talk to you, to ask you to quiet my fears. I feel your guard a lot and I know why it’s there. You can’t give me all of you because you’ve got to be at home.
I just keep going back to I did this to us and I can’t make it right. It’s too late to make it right.
But here we are. Still, here we are.