I cried today on the porch, and He held me.
The second man in the whole world to hold me while I cried. Not even my father has that distinction.
As usual, I was crying about a million tiny molehills that had lumped themselves together into a mountain.
He didn't seem impatient or awkward or angry. And his voice... His wonderful fucking voice.

Oh Jesus...

I never meant to say anything that I said to him. I never wanted him to know, even get a fleeting glimpse, about just how fucked up I am.

"Why are you being so secretive?"

"Because I'm afraid to open up to you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to think badly of me."

And then that voice came, with what sounded like compassion and anger and sadness and pity all together. I can't remember word for word what he said but it was something that completely undid me.

Oh Jesus. This can't go on.

I can't go on.