I can't be reckless with you

I have always been reckless with hearts. Not maliciously, not ever with the intent to hurt or play games. I've been reckless because I'm too quick to settle back in to what I know to avoid pain. The allure of comfort has been greater than the strength to walk away with a clear heart. Even when my gut tells me to walk away, I settle into the back-and-forth game, with-you-but-not-with-you, because it's easier than just without-you. It's easier than alone. And it always ends with an explosion, volatile, and it leaves hearts shattered when they could have just been bruised.

I can't be reckless with you. I can't play back-and-forth because I know how that ends. All I want is to run back into your arms, feel safe and loved and cherished like you've always made me feel. And for a while, because that's comfortable, it will feel so perfect and so right. But what happens when the restlessness starts, when I start to question everything? The resentment and anger and poison that I've seen borne from the on-again-off-again bullshit, I can't have that with you.

And that means I have to walk away for a while. Not forever. But for long enough for both of us to sort through the raw feelings that are eating us both alive. Long enough for us to be able to shoot a game of pool or laugh at each other's jokes without tripping back into each other's arms.

This isn't what I want, but it's what I know is right. And for you, I will muster up the strength to walk away, even when it leaves sick knots in my stomach. Because right now our hearts are bruised, but they're not shattered. There's a kind of damage you can't recover from, and I can't have that with you. I won't. I need us to be friends at the end of all of this, no matter what happens. You're too fucking important for me to risk the damage that I know will come if I settle for comfort.

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