I don’t know how to be anything

other than intense.

All in.

Too much.

Too involved.

I don’t know how to be an almost

or anything in between.

But there’s a price you pay

when you can’t settle for the middle

because when you’re so fixated on

a certain kind of love

you become so good at letting go,

kissing people goodbye,

holding someone’s hand

only to unclasp your fingers,

getting so dangerously close

only to create a safer distance,

catching yourself before you fall

because you’re not so sure

if they will catch you.

And you don’t know how to half-love someone

or have bits and pieces of their heart,

You only know how to love with all your heart

and want the same in return.

So I got used to it all,

you know —

leaving,

moving on,

being on my own,

searching for answers,

walking my journey alone

because as much as I want to

hold someone’s hand

as I climb the mountain

and as much as I want to

share the view with someone,

I don’t know how to balance myself

if I’m not the only one.

I don’t know how to open the door

if I have one foot out.

So it doesn’t get to me anymore

when people call me too dreamy,

too romantic,

too idealistic,

or too much

because there’s a price you pay

when you don’t know how to settle,

you spend a lot of time waiting,

you spend a lot of time alone,

you don’t always have a hand to hold,

you don’t always have someone to call

but for some reason, you wait it out,

because you have faith that one of those days

your too muchness will be just enough

for the right person.