Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Cowardice

There was one stand out moment of our relationship for me. You probably don't remember.

You picked me up. Literally. I am ridiculously scared of heights and I have one reaction when someone lifts me. I cling and whimper.

You were so attuned to my subtle nuances that you realised I was scared. I'm not sure how this bit went, but I seem to remember you laughed and asked if I was really scared. And then you must have realised I was, because you stopped laughing, although I clearly recall your eyes still looked amused, and you said:

"I won't let you fall."

That moment terrified me. Not because of my physical danger, but because there was something at that moment that made me realise.

I believed you.

I utterly trusted you to keep me safe. I saw the look in your eyes and in that second I realised I could fall in love with you.

At that time I was broken. All that remained from my previous life was a shell, shattered and in need of healing.

I knew men run away when women fall too fast.
I knew men could not be trusted.
I knew you would hurt me.

I was wrong. I never gave you the chance to prove it to me, but I know now.

If we had stayed together, my broken shell would have healed around you. It is better that I healed alone.

But I wish I knew what that moment of cowardice really cost me.