I was never one to go on a search for love. I actually consider myself a pretty damn good architect- I am pro at building walls around my heart so feelings can’t get in. From the outside, these walls are concrete bricks, stacked perfectly. Many have tried to climb over, but the look remained clean and untouched. On the inside, however, they are stained with graffiti from a love that once tore me apart. Rather than breaking down the walls, he ruined them. He swore it was artwork; he promised he would make it beautiful. But instead, he vandalized it. The graffiti was never meant to be art. It was made to mark his territory. I tried to paint over the graffiti, but the paint could only cover so much. I never wanted anyone to see it. And the only way to do that was to keep people out at all costs.
Then somehow you found an entrance and you sort of stumbled in. I was never prepared for it. But honestly, I don’t think there was ever a way for me to prepare for it. You walked in so gracefully, and you looked at the mess he made. But you never tried to paint over it. You never tried to conceal any of the damage that was done. And you never tried to violently demolish the walls. You never tried to make it seem like the graffiti never existed. Instead, you started taking it down, brick by brick– unfolding me in the most gentle way. You acknowledged that the vandalism was there, and instead of wiping it out immediately, you took the time to understand why I am so damaged. You’re still working on it. You’re still taking each brick down individually. You’re taking your time, and so am I. And for the first time, I am not afraid. For the first time, I’m totally okay letting someone in.