I knew I had never told you, but I’d always been slightly insecure about myself. I tried so hard not to show it, because I was an independent woman and I always urged people to believe in themselves.
You might see me as someone who was confident and easy going, and I knew you loved me enough to stay, but I couldn’t help but wonder: what if someday you met someone who was better than me, and you’d finally wonder why you were still stuck here with me while you could’ve had all the better women out there.
You see, the thing was, I loved you enough to want you by my side and to share my life with, but I knew I wasn’t perfect enough to be that sure that you also wanted the same thing. But nobody was perfect, right? And I was sure it was considered healthy for me to have this level of insecurity—at least it was a proof I wasn’t an over-self-centered narcissist, wasn’t it?
(I knew you’d laugh; I laughed, too, when I wrote this.)
So I decided to take things slowly, and told myself that as long as you loved me, you’d stay. No matter how long we would be together, I promised myself that I would make the most of it, so that in the end if things didn’t work out and we decided to go our separate ways, I would have some sweet memories from the time we were together, and I would never regret any part of my life in which we belonged with each other.
But of course, you, being you, couldn’t help but notice my irrational uneasiness, and although you liked to tease me for being “hormonal” at times like these, you’d still pull me into your warm embrace and blurted,
“But, Darling, who could’ve been better than you, at being you?”
See? You would never have to ask me if I loved you. You knew I did.