365, Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Fragile Love

When I was young, I wanted to believe that I’m the kind of girl that book authors write about, the heroines, those that could fight and ride their own horses, those that could hold their own swords, battle with the dragons, monsters, and evil witches, and command a whole wizarding world. As I grew up, nothing much changes. I wanted to believe that I’m the kind of girl who is independent and self-capable, a girl who could hold her own self, fight her own battles, win this world with charm and intellect, make some outstanding achievements, and solve her own problems without needing anyone’s help.

So why then, here and now, when you kiss me, I feel like folding on myself? And when you touch me, I feel like a porcelain doll too vulnerable on your touch, and all I wanted to do is to curl up and sleep in your arms, and be engulfed with your warmth embrace and presence. What happen to my dreams of courage and self-independence? Why is it, here and now, I want to believe that maybe this time, I do not have to keep my eyes open all the time to fight the monsters that plague me before I sleep? Maybe this time, I could be as fragile, vulnerable, and trusting as I could be. Something I’d never been.

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