If you left what would be left of me? I'd rather not know. I'd rather believe life doesn't end until we've done everything we've needed to do, until there's nothing keeping us from moving on, until we've had enough time to truly live. To love completely. But that does't happen does it? I'm constantly afraid you won't be here one day. I should live for this second but how can I help dreaming about the future? Feelings are a funny thing, so uncontainable, unable to be defined like a mathematical equation. It is so frustrating to place so much happiness in something so fragile. But it's beautiful all the same. That someone freely loves me and purely wants me to be happy is beautiful to me. Sometimes I don't believe it. I had been overlooked and dismissed for so long I didn't know how it felt to be loved with no make up on. With my temper. With my impatience and my imperfect body. With my unending insecurities and blunt mannerisms. With my selfishness and my inability to stop talking. I'm still loved. And I thank God every day that He gave someone that ability to love me.