He called me naive, but he didn’t realize that I was simply rooting for him.
I know that the path where words align with action is built on uneven ground. I was perched on a high branch above him hoping he would find his footing.
He called me naive, but he didn’t understand that I knew exactly the risk I was taking. Experience has taught me that the memory of a kiss may hurt one day, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth opening my arms.
He called me naive, which is the favorite word of the cynical. The grumpy. The lonely types who believe they have outsmarted us all. But the wisdom I’ve gained tells me that building impenetrable fortress walls only makes the silence stronger.
He called me naive, but he didn’t understand that in my world, love walks without a chaperone, but sharpens its sword nightly. I have learned that mastery exists as equally in an embrace as it does in a compassionate beheading. We must choose our tools wisely, because each has consequences.
He called me naive, but he didn’t ask how hard it must have been to become this soft.
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