β "i got it," you'd always say, "i don't need help. i can do it."
you were never one to ask for things when you were struggling; not even from the people who were supposed to be there for you. you could do it. you could handle it. you'd climb through hoops, or on countertops to get what you needed. you remain silent, struggling in the depths of your mind-a smile on your face. but, sometimes, you just wanted to cry. sometimes you just wanted someone to ease the pain a little. to take the weight from off your shoulders and come uncover your soul. you wanted someone to see you, not praise you for all that you'd done. you were more than just cracked-glass.
maybe it was because you had to grow up too early. maybe it was because you never had that support engraved into you. maybe having to act like an adult while you still played with dolls took its toll on you. maybe you weren't able to ask such a simple question because it was never met with anything but criticism-why weren't you able to accomplish such a simple task? why couldn't you solve this equation? why didn't you know how to put gas in a car, or change the oil? why couldn't you preheat the oven? eventually, you asked yourself the same questions.
why did you have to be dependent on people who were supposed to help you?
so, you never bothered them anymore-the fear of rejection strong.
you reached your hand high above your head, silently cursing yourself for putting things on the top shelf anyways. you huffed, feeling the deep desire within you to get off the countertop and find something else to hold what you wanted.
however, there was a screaming voice inside your head, mocking your lack of attempt. you could reach a little higher, your fingertips were brushing it anyways. what was a little fall if you got what you wanted?
would you feel accomplished? would it satisfy you to feel pain as you rubbed at your bruised knees? would it make you smile?
β "here," you felt a warmth, a presence you'd grown familiar with, his body pressed to your back momentarily. your heart beat unsteadily-from adrenaline, or proximity? "let me help you."
β "no," you looked over your shoulder, "i got it."
your faces were close, so close you could feel his breath against your lips. you never knew someone could look like that up close.
β "i know you do," he ignored your pleading eyes, knowing somewhere within them was just a mirage of what you wanted people to see. what you wanted to see. "but, i want to help."
and that's how it started; your undoing. the crumbling of the walls you built so goddamn high, even you couldn't get over them. but, he picked at them pebble by pebble until he roamed your mind freely.
it was the small things: holding your jacket out for you to put on, brushing your hair after a shower, grabbing you a glass of water or a snack without wanting something in return, letting you vent instead of biting your tongue. he'd put your legs over his lap, and turn on your favorite show. he'd remind you every second of every day that you were beautiful if he could. he'd do anything for you to see yourself the way he saw you; wingless angel.
he never made you feel like a burden, normalizing the things that should've just been.
his soft voice would replay in your mind, a lingering touch on your heart-pulling the strings until they unraveled.
maybe there was such a thing as everlasting love. maybe there was such a thing as unconditional. maybe you'd never felt trust before-maybe you've never actually loved before. because to be loved is to not feel uncomfortable. to be loved is to not walk on eggshells. to be in love is to not make selfish sacrifices. to be loved is to listen. to be in love is to not feel like you're at war with yourself.
to be in love is to hear angels singing every time you look at each other.