I slipped—
not because I stopped feeling
but because I felt
too much.

And in that spiral,
I found the old part of me again—
the one that mistrusts beauty,
that scans every gift
for a blade.

You called it out.
You saw it happen.
You stayed.

Because in this crazy world,
it’s easier to believe
I’m a terrible person
than it is to believe
someone wonderful
could simply love me.

No performance.
No punishment.
Just presence.

So I flinched.
I questioned.
I compared myself
to the ghosts I imagined.

But it wasn’t you
I doubted.
It was the possibility
of being wanted
without a warning label.

You didn’t do anything wrong.
You were just being
you.

And I let my fear
speak louder than your truth.

I’m not asking to be forgiven.
I’m asking to be understood.
To be seen as someone
still learning
how to hold what’s good
without crushing it.

You were never the threat.

You were the offering.