Will you still love me when I tell you all the things I’m afraid to say. We built this world of you and me and love and safe and beautiful. I didn’t want to tell you. I still don’t.
I was raped (for years.)
(by a family member)
I was a prostitute.
I gave up on life when the only person who ever loved me was killed.
Sometimes every moment feels like dying.
And when I’m with you, I pretend these things don’t exist. I kiss you and I hold you, and I pretend I’m the girl I see in your eyes.
Will you still love me one day when I tell you all these things. You who are so innocent and naive. You who has a family who has always loved you. You who has never seen a bad thing happen, except in movies.
But I don’t think I’ll ever tell you, and so I don’t think you’ll ever be the one.