Listen, boo…

I like you. I like you a lot. I hope we get married someday. I'm a little nervous admitting that, even to myself, locked in my room with the door shut and shades drawn. I hope you hear me whispering.

Therapy today. Getting ready, I watched all hell break loose—again. It's like clockwork, my schedule for this bullshit. I like staying organized; it boosts efficiency. I don't feel comfortable seeing pictures of you with others around me. I smile too big, too bright. I'm kind of afraid to show my softer side—being vulnerable is risky. Beyond the gauntlet of judgment, my walls tremble at approaching footsteps and wrath. 

I hope you understand. I hope you tell me soon that you want me in your life.