You are facing someone you love. Someone who loves you. At least, you hope they do.

Loving you never stopped the hurting, though—the way it spills out of you.

Eventually you think you'd learn to start bringing a bucket to dinner, to store the slosh and silt bleeding out of you and onto the floor. You think you'd stop making a mess of every restaurant you've ever been to. Stop making a mess of yourself and everyone you've ever been with.

Eventually, you think you'd stop asking pointless things.

YOU:

Are you going to hurt me?

SOMEONE YOU LOVE:

Undoubtedly. But you will embrace me anyways.

YOU:

I will?

SOMEONE YOU HATE:

always.

You've had this conversation so many times, but you'll have it again.