I was a wallflower.
Not the prettiest in the bunch,
Nor the brightest. . . .
But you didn’t care.
I was used to being alone and keeping to myself in my own little garden of rare, misfit flowers,
And I was resistant to you,
And all your kindness,
Because I didn’t want it.
But I did, I really did. . . .
I was just scared of loving and getting hurt and hurting you. . . .
My fists were clenched in anger for the world and to distract myself from the pain in my heart.
But the more you tried to break down my fortifications, the more you tried to show me someone cared about me,
The more I learned to like you.
And then to trust you.
And then to love you.
The army of your love and generosity have defeated my army of resistance and loneliness, seemingly in the blink of an eye.
The irony of it is,
That I never thought that one day I’d say that I was happy to be defeated, in any context.
But I was.
I was defeated by you.
For showing me how to love.