Intentionally Here

I’m riding the rollercoaster,

screaming on the inside while the outside stays quiet.

I opened the door slowly,

not out of fear —

but out of care.

A willingness, not a rush.

I’ve left it open, just enough.

Enough for him to decide —

to run toward the door,

only touch it,

and realize he wants to stay.

Not out of obligation,

but from a pure loyalty

to the love that is willing

to be experienced by him,

with me.

I don’t know if I want it all to be a surprise —

maybe that’s me trying to hold onto a sense of control.

I imagine different endings,

different shifts,

different ways things might fall apart or fall into place.

But that’s the thing about real life —

it doesn’t follow the version I write in my head.

Whether I try to see it coming or not,

it’ll still surprise me.

Things end.

I know that.

I’m not scared of it,

I just find myself wondering how.

What will I feel by the time it’s over?

What will I learn?

Who will I be on the other side?

It all plays out like a film I’ve never seen —

and I’m just sitting here, watching the middle,

knowing the end is coming,

but not fast-forwarding.

Letting it unfold.

Letting it change me.

I wonder if this is even a good place to be —

guarded, maybe?

Self-preserving, perhaps?

Or is it self-sabotage?

I don’t have the answers.

All I know is that unfamiliarity breeds endings,

and still, I want to experience it—whatever it may be.

If I’m intentional about this, does that mean I’m truly choosing,

or simply allowing myself to experience?

Why do we put so much weight on the act of choosing, or being chosen?

Could it be that to intentionally experience something is to choose it?

It feels like two separate things—

but maybe that duality is necessary,

a way to convince myself that I am choosing,

or perhaps a shield to soften the hurt when it ends.

Maybe I’m not dismissing emotions,

but rather refusing to let them steer my path.

Isn’t that a love stronger than emotion alone?