Tomorrow I will be spilling my guts. I'm going to be honest. Extremely, openly, gut wrenchingly honest. My hands will probably sweat. In fact, all of me will probably sweat. Most of my sentences are likely to come out jumbled and half won't make sense. I'll throw in a few uh's and um's just to fill those minuscule quiet spaces that comes between words in a sentence. And if I'm lucky, I'll be able to make my point clear. I'll be able to say what I really feel instead of words that are safe and guarded.
I just got truthful with myself this past month. And I don't know which will be more difficult: when I admitted to myself my true feelings or tomorrow when I own up to my desires.
When I finally came to terms with the fact that my heart wanted The Possibility to become a Sure Thing my whole body was shaking. I had worked so hard to close my heart off again. I had become a master of building emotional walls and playing the role of the aloof bystander of love. Nothing I said was serious. Nothing I did made anyone feel too special or wanted. I was a champion at keeping love at arm's length with both arm's tied behind my back. It was the perfect illusion.
That is until my feelings took over my heart and later my mind. I had no control over how much I cared. Most days I've probably cared too much, been too concerned or worried. It wasn't until this week that I realized that all of those things (the feelings, the hoping, the pining) are so sweet. Torturous, but sweet. And while I don't know the outcome of tomorrow's conversation, I know that my heart is in a better place. It's open again.
