Wrong Time

I can barely hold your gaze. You try to reach me, to connect with me, but there’s an invisible block, a barrier you can’t cross. My acute terror at being witnessed. Of being seen. I crave you from the very depths of my soul, but you scare the ever-living shit out of me.

It’s not intentional – how I push you away. I feel the walls come up, and even though I will myself to not block you out, survival kicks in. I hate how my base instincts override my rationale, and my own desires.

I promise to do the work it will take to rid myself of the tools I picked up in survival mode. I promise to work towards living in my body instead of always escaping into the sanctuary in my mind.

It’s too late for us though. I don’t want you to wait for me. I would hate what that would do to you. I know myself well enough to know that if you did, I would always feel indebted for your sacrifice. And that would suffocate me. I would hate it, then I would hate you.

Though bittersweet, I prefer to remember us as we are now. Before resentment and impatience turn this into something ugly and painful. Thank you for mirroring the unhealed parts of me back to myself. Sometimes, I wish you came into my life a bit later, when I could have been a version of myself that wouldn’t hurt you. But I know you arrived right on time. I was always fated to have you just for a while. Forever was never meant for us.

-What could have been.

I hope you enjoyed this short story.

To the best versions of ourselves,

Cira J.N.

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