every piece of his past i learn is like ripping open a scar, reopening old wounds, and leaving them open to heal or consume me. they are his past yet i feel them as old injuries, as though my heart was always aware of everything throughout time, but i need to hear him tell me himself so i can convince the part of me that doesn’t want to believe it’s true. you see it all as a betrayal, no matter how unfair it is, and at the end of the day it’s whether you can be with someone who lives up to any of your ideals.
i suspect that when the questions end, we’ll finally begin.