The Paradoxical.

I forget sometimes, what love can be. I remember now
And everything since has been ridiculous. Disrespectful of love. Cruel sometimes.
To honour him, he whose heart I shattered with my inability to let myself love and be loved.
I wait. For something as grand and beautiful as what he offered.
As what we had. Once upon a time. Until I killed it.
How could something with such depth be real, my frightened heart beat into me.
I felt unsafe for all its security. Everything ends. Everyone goes.
The grief at its death still lives inside my flesh.
(But then, how could it not, when I was its death?)
Seeping out into the hollows that form, when I allow those more shallow
To pierce through my naïve soul. To see what they do not deserve to see
Of my supposed imperfections. My heart should be kept,
Box within box within box...
To save it from it's own clumsy falls.
It loves too easy, falls too hard.
And I do not believe there is a human alive who would not
Disappoint it somehow. I disappoint it myself.
For I love too much, to be loved enough.
And so I love everything.
Every damn thing.
To save myself from the fear,
That to love this way
Ironically, means
I will be alone.
Allowing only myself,
To be the danger
To my own damned heart.