Would You Still Love Me?
Will you still hold my hand if you knew, I could choose to hold another?
Would you still love me in my darkest times? When I refused to talk to anyone while talking to everyone? Would you wait for me on the other side of the door if I choose to lock the gates and shut you out while everyone in my life foolishly believes I have let down my guard? Would you still accept my imperfections when you see the scars on my arms before I had known a cleverer place to hide the trauma I’ve suffered?
Would you still love me in my wildest times? When I inconveniently say yes to the next adventure, regardless of everyone’s look of disapproval and disappointment? Would you stay by my side when you see me drunk on a Saturday night, throwing my guts at the toilet, but ready for church on Sunday morning? Would you support me when I have to discipline myself into training for the next marathon, the next competition, the next race I have decided to commit to, despite the little time I have? And no, I’m not asking you to join me in all of the sports I’ve been wanting to do. But would you cheer for me the way my family never did? Would you cheer for me the way I’ve always needed to hear? Or would you stand alongside them and try to bring me down?
Would you still love me when you realize I can love so much more than you could ever hope to imagine? And no, I don’t mean that in a good way. Especially when we met in a world where right and wrong is emphasized, and where angels and demons actually exist. Would you still accept me if I come out of the shadows, especially when we were taught that sin is big, and faith is even bigger? Would you let go if you realize I can love more than one kind of you? Would you still hold me if you knew I can love you and I can fall for her? Will you still hold my hand if you knew, I could choose to hold another?
Would you still love me when your eyes open to the uncertainty of the future? And I know at this point you would laugh and shake it off with the thought of “Nothing is certain about the future.” But what I meant to say was, would you still want to build a home with me when you realize I have uncertain thoughts about wanting to have children? Would you still stay by my side knowing the chance that our home would be just the two of us? Would you still hold my hand, or would you look at me in regret if you realize that this woman you’ve fallen for refuses to have kids, and is not even sure of wanting to bear a child?
Would you still love me when you hear the questions I’ve been asking? The faith I carried with me throughout my childhood is slowly crumbling, and I’m doing very little to hold up the foundations. Would you try to understand when you see me going into mythology and astrology and whatever beliefs the world is showing to me? And no, I’m not letting go of Christianity that easily. But would you still accept me if I slowly let go of its grip on me? If I slowly let myself sink into the world, just for a little while?
And if you say yes to all of these things, would you be able to bear the fact that if I choose to stay with you, you’ll know I could never love you the way you want me to? Because even if the love you have for me is unconditional, my love is still latched onto my dreams and hopes and the longings to travel the world and finding myself, and I know I could never love you the way you want me to, the way you hoped me to.