When were you going to tell me?
Sunrises are far more alluring than sunsets. But if someone ever asks me I will say the opposite because I’ve only ever know the sunset. He is soft and will caress me at the end of a long day. Since I am never awake to witness a sunrise, for the troubles of yesterday still weigh down my eyes, I will never learn that a man who is rough, bright, and represents new beginnings is far better than one who masks the problems away with false innocence.

When were you going to tell me?
Nothing will ever make me as happy as a new book.  Consuming the experiences of others through trains of thought will entertain me for an eternity. Learning just how deep the human mind can go will interest me for hours and I will deny any request for company because I want to absorb as much as possible. The books with the most creases will always be my favorite because just as those sharp lines appear on their spines, they appear in me too, growing wisdom into my very bones.

When were you going to tell me?
I will never trust easy. As a child, I was let down far too many times to ever be picked up effortlessly again. I will struggle against anyone that attempts to enter my personal head space, but if they manage to get in, it will be hard to get them out. My cerebrum will tuck them into the very folds of who I am. They will become parts of my happiness. If they ever break away, without my wanting, they will take a piece of me with them.

When were you going to tell me?
Most teenage boys lack the ability to make you feel something grand. Young love is nothing like the whispered stories told to us as children. After months of dancing around each other, to an intense song, I will say yes. The beginning will be the only part I wish to remember. He will claim to love me and I will choke up and not say it back. I will try with every fiber of my being to say it back. He will never hear me say it back. I will always wonder what would have happened if he could have made me feel the need to say it back. Perhaps he’d be holding me right now instead of her. Perhaps he would’ve moved on anyway.

When were you going to tell me?
My anxiety will sometimes consume me. Intense thoughts will sprout from every crevice of my body. Doubts and what ifs will often stop me from doing the things that interest me. I will wither away at some points to nothing but worry. Panic attacks may often shake my entire existence and create a tsunami of perspective as my ears ring and I attempt to regulate my breathing. The aftermath will always be the worst as you stare at me with pain in your eyes. I will always recover.

When were you going to tell me?
Life will attempt to throw me down every flight of stairs it encounters. Sometimes I will fall, but often, the people I have chosen to surround myself with will catch me. I will become a person with value. A person that is slowly learning to love herself. I will yell about my passions and never be ashamed of the way I have pieced myself together. I will eventually not need you to tell me these things. I will learn to distinguish who I am from who I want to be and always grow.