I wish I could look her dead in her hazel eyes and hold her tiny hands (knowing they won’t get much bigger), and tell her not to fall in love. Or infatuation.
Because by god does it hurt.
But I also want to hold her hands and say it’s not all bad.
I don’t know when it truly starts, I thought it did before (it didn’t), before they broke my heart. I keep hoping it’s now, with him (it won’t be).
But I want to look at her. I wish I could warn her that it’s terrifying, that she’ll never feel she is enough.
It won’t change anything, but maybe it would prepare her.
I wish I could tell her that falling for someone is like the first day of knowing spring is truly here. She always judges by the way she can smell the blossoms on the hint of summer breeze.
It’s like sitting in front of the heater in winter, a soft glow of warmth starts on your skin,
but soon it starts to burn and hurt but you don’t want to leave because you know how cold you’ll be if you do.
So you let it hurt instead.
Even though it’s not easier. You though it would be easier.
Easier was when you were younger and the thought of someone else’s touch was repulsive. It is no easier craving it and wondering when or if you’ll ever feel it again.
I’d take her tiny hands and apologise for how I’d break her heart.