Who are you? Sometimes I think I know, but how could I? You give nothing of yourself, even if it’s your favorite color. I have no information on your mind or inner workings. Maybe I’m good with people, but I’m not so good that I can take nothing and make it so that I can read your mind. I can’t read your mind. I can’t even read your facial expressions.
I’m an open book. Everything, my heart, my soul, my energy, my hope–it’s all on my sleeve. I marked its location permanently so that everyone could access it. Including you. I guess I just don’t understand.
Maybe it’s my problem and not yours. I am ready to invest so much energy into the relationship, but I need to know, beforehand, that I’m not going to crash and burn.