Again and again… will we ever live past it? Past all of the stupid little rules the world gives us, the stupid little roles we have to play.

Everything has to be controlled.

I can’t be weak. I can’t show it. I can’t show that I might need you. I can’t show that I might… not have it all figured out. I can’t show that I might be falling apart. I can’t ask for help.

I can’t tell you I’m desperate. I can’t show it if I’m vulnerable. I can’t show it if I actually might really care about it. About you.

I have to laugh it off instead.

I might blame it on “society.” And that’s probably where it came from.

But there’s a point… where the world stops the restrictions, and I put them on myself instead.

The truth is… I might be scared.
I’m really scared…
to show that I care.
That you have the ability… to hurt me.
I don’t know when it got into my head that I have to have armor.

But it did.
And I’m scared.
It’s scary when you don’t know what parts of you are fake and which are real.