Unlovable

 
I find it hard to believe that I was ever meant for love.
Faking my tears when friends insisted on watching the notebook.
And okay, P.S, I love you.
At least, I'm pretty sure I think I do.

The feeling of two hearts beating, but mine just never seeming to keep rhythm.
The back and forth, and the shiver of switching temperatures.
The swooshing within the depths of my gut. I'm seasick.

It's always easiest to put on that
award winning performance.
Save the tears for my private show.
When no one is there to judge them for missing their cue, and falling at the wrong moment.

And It'll always be less work to pretend not to want the white picket fence.
The yard with the golden dog.
And, the husband playing with the children as I sip my sweet tea on my porch until sunset.

Because I could never quite differentiate between the gutwrenching feeling of butterflies, and warning signs that hide deep within them. Freeze or flight.
But they're getting far too close.

So, no, I dont believe I was ever meant for love.

No matter the longing in my chest, nor the heart I wear tattood on my sleeve.
Because learning to love me takes time, and I've never wanted to be a teacher.