To love is to confess you are willing to be devastated by someone.

Unfolding origami boat hearts.
Unanticipated.

Tonight unfolded in a way I did not anticipate.
I am adrift and a draft of cold is coming in through my poorly sealed paper porthole.

I think to be seen as some fun is not to be seen at all.

Why stay in a relationship like this:
A ship trawling clear relations, her strained hull against high waves and muddied waters.

The current swell is distinctly unswell but our ship is not a situationship.

I respect her honesty while the vulnerable part of me feels devastated. Look at the state of my heart: vast, with the currents of our love diverging.

Hear the clang as the waves hit me.
My heart is loose.

I need a good heartwrenching to tighten the bolts while I envision spending tomorrow with someone who only sees me as a companion for today.

The cultural differences between us are too much
and I am not traditional enough.

An ocean is not divided by barriers but by distance.

A confronting question:

If I choose to stay in this relationship, knowing well that it does not lead where I hoped, am I still respecting myself?

I am holding onto a love that is freely given but not receiprocated in the way I need or want.

I thought we could be a haven for each other. I thought we had made space in our soft hearts to shelter each other from the rigid and unyielding world.

The crash of these waves is a reminder that we are not a safe harbour.

The flickering lighthouse of the present burns, and I want to steer into it until the last moment, greeding for the warmth of the light though I know it will soon be extinguished as I am dashed against the rocks.

Perhaps the flickering will give way to a steady shining: a flourescent and studious glow that will illuminate the dark corners of my liminal heart.

Throw me a lifejacket, I'm cold and wet.