I wouldn't call myself cold, but I am defiantly not heated with passion. No matter how hard I try, past experiences have left me too scared to feel anything at all. I'm preparing for you to leave. I'm preparing for you to lie. I'm preparing for you to realize who I really am regret ever sticking around. You're the longest to stay and I could tell from the beginning that you were going to hurt the most. So I have talked myself out of it, I have cooled the passion. I am only lukewarm, the heat of live that is keeping me from freezing over with my own bitter chill. I knew I loved you when you offered to walk me home at 10 o'clock in the morning. I knew I was in love with you the third time you stayed the night with me. Yet I still hold myself back, I tell myself to wait. Wait for it to end. Wait for the pain to come. It's coming. It's coming. I know it. He tells me every day that I am beautiful, that he never wants to be the reason that I'm in pain, he says I amaze him, that he's the lucky one, I'm too good to him, too good for him and yet I can't believe him. No matter how many times he tells me, I tell myself to wait. It's sick I know, it really is but I will wait.
YOU ARE READING
The Unknown
PoetryThe stories, poems and thoughts of a sixteen year old girl. I'll admit I put a lot of myself into this. I don't expect you to like it, this is defiantly a personal thing. so yeah, have fun.
