I mess up at least a couple times a day.
I yell when I should whisper, and I whisper when I should yell.
Like when you asked what I liked about you and I whispered that I couldn't remember anymore.
I should have yelled.
Because I can think of about a thousand now. And I want you to hear them.
Like when I bought those brown boots and you didn't ask me to take them back.
Because you knew I needed something to make me feel like myself again.
And when I wear them, I love you.
Not perfectly, but I love.
Or when I told you that you would be happier somewhere else.
With someone else.
And in an instant you weren't mad at me anymore. You let it go. Whatever it was.
And you just held on to me.
I wish I could love.