Letters
I want nothing more than to give all that I am to you.
There's a part of me that I hold back from everyone, a part that stays hidden to the world and festers away in it's dark little corner, happily shadowed and concealed in my psyche.
It is full of the things that I just don't want anyone else to see because I'm either ashamed of them or I'm petrified that I am going to be judged harshly for them.
I feel quite sorry for this poor neglected part of my brain, this bastard child of thoughts and feelings that must never see the light of day lest I be cast out of every place I hold dear.
But not with you.
I feel safe with you.
Comfortable.
Warm.
At Home.
There's a part of me that I hold back from everyone, a part that stays hidden to the world and festers away in it's dark little corner, happily shadowed and concealed in my psyche.
It is full of the things that I just don't want anyone else to see because I'm either ashamed of them or I'm petrified that I am going to be judged harshly for them.
I feel quite sorry for this poor neglected part of my brain, this bastard child of thoughts and feelings that must never see the light of day lest I be cast out of every place I hold dear.
But not with you.
I feel safe with you.
Comfortable.
Warm.
At Home.