Perhaps.

his eyes scream of adoration
and I can only hope my mask is strong enough--
can he read the fear behind my eyes?

Oh, I want,


I WANT to live in his world,
                 all daisies and sunshine,
                         where we can live his american dream,
                                steady job, perfect house, perfect wife, perfect kids. . . .
I WANT to let him love me,
                  all sugary and sweet,
                         where we skip down tree lined streets in his suburban paradise
                                  love, marriage, baby in a baby carriage

Isn't that how the rhyme's supposed to go?

But, see,
life's no children's rhyme,
and love, (ha)
love can be so harsh sometimes.

He says the past doesn't matter, only our future.
             But the past shaped me into this figure.
He says he isn't going anywhere,
              that he'll stay so long as I'll keep him here.

I've got plans.
Adventures to have,
a whole world of exploring to do,
         and an independent streak that would shake even the most individual individual.

He says he's happy to come along for the ride,
and I,
I keep hoping he's able to hang on
tight.

Because, behind the fear in my eyes,
buried under this mask of mine,
there is a glimmer of hope,
and a flicker of adoration,
   a love so new and fragile I'm not ready to admit it's there.

And a hope that
                  he'll help protect it,
                  he'll help nurture it,
until the light
    that is my love for him
illuminates the dark corners of my heart,
and instead of running from them,
perhaps he'll see the beauty in a fractured past,
so elegantly pieced together.

Perhaps,
             love.