I’m afraid, I think, of being loved. Of letting people love me as I love them. Of being important to others.
If I let you in, what’s to say that you won’t leave?
That you won’t turn way?
That you won’t turn to dust when the clock hits twelve?
No, I am too afraid of losing you to let you in.
Which in itself will drive you away.
I’m such a fink.
No wonder I’m only good at hurting people.