Even with his hectic lifestyle and the madness that we’re going through . . . I love him. Part of it is how much he loves me. How many people can say that they know for sure they’re loved? With him, I know that I am. Fiercely. Possessively. Imperfectly. Completely.
But I can’t escape the fact that he also hurt me more than I ever thought a person could hurt and live to tell. He has that power and it’s scary. So there’s a part of me that’s fighting it, this thing we have. It feels so weighty sometimes, threatening to pull me in, swallow up my whole life and everything and everyone that’s in it.
And what’s scarier is, I’m starting not to care if it does . . .