I’m not afraid to break your heart. I’m not afraid to break anyone’s heart, really. I’m even fairly certain I’ve already done it before. It wouldn’t be too strange to do it again, I suppose. You’ve already broken my heart once before so why shouldn’t I return the favor? I guess because I know I really don’t want to return the favor. I want to keep you and hold onto you with every fiber of my being because, oh god, I don’t want this to end like it did last time.
I’m not putting any weight on this, whatever this is, this time. I’m not going to hem and haw and berate you with things like labels or titles. A title won’t bring you any closer to me and if it pushes your farther away from me, then I don’t want it anymore anyway. I’m trying not to invest myself or jump in too deep because I know what lies at the bottom of this well and I need to stop praying for a soft water landing. There can’t be expectations but, dear lord, you make me want to make a thousand plans for today, tomorrow, and every day after.
I have this daydream where we go to Ikea, intending to act out (500) Days of Summer while simultaneously going there with the purpose to buy furniture to furnish my new apartment. We spend hours belaboring over pillows and duvets and kitchenware. We giggle amongst the couches, kiss amongst the curtains, and hold hands into the food court as we excitedly get Swedish meatballs. You help me haul all of my piece-meal furniture into your car and we drive to Manhattan, to my place. We spend the day in our most comfortable clothes, sprawled out on my living room floor while putting everything together – a task that is mind-numbingly tedious yet wildly entertaining. We stop intermittently to laugh at one another’s hardships with the wood, the screws, the nails, and the tools. We eat pizza for dinner because it’s cheap and fast and neither of us can afford anything more extravagant. You kiss me while we’re eating despite the grease dripping on both our faces. We sleep soundly, furniture all put together, in my new bed that’s perfectly large enough for our two tired but happy bodies.
It’s all so wonderful and perfect and I think I want it too much. I’m trying to not crush this, whatever this is, with the weight of my desires but it’s a load I’m struggling to carry. I don’t know how to turn this feeling off or how to walk away so I’m unscathed. I feel you carved into me like an etching in stone. So permanent, so stuck, and so cold. I want all of you and I don’t want you to break my heart because as much as I can try to protect it, you’re the only one capable of tearing it to pieces.
The Young and Broke Life 