Stumbled upon a meme this week:

I’ve reached that age where my brain goes from “you probably shouldn’t say that,” to “what the hell, let’s see what happens.”

To which my reply was, “For real, though.”

Except. It’s not.

At least not when it matters.

Yes, I have become a li’l braver, bolder… when it doesn’t really matter. Or when my blurting can get me in trouble.

And I can send these via text. Yes, my sweetie, I can blow your mind.

Yet, when I see you. And have the opportunity to tell you I want you.

I hesitate. And you know.

You know I am not ready. And you’re visibly disappointed. You don’t respond to my hints. Because you want me to say it. You want to hear it. Leave nothing to chance.

And I hesitate. Why? Am I protecting you? From me? From happiness? From my own failings and shortcomings? From the pure bliss I know we will share?

Why?

I know I shouldn’t not be making these decisions for you. I should trust you to dive into the chaos. The unknown. The bliss.

The pure bliss I know we will share.

Yet, I like you. I really, really like you. And I don’t want to screw this up. So, naturally, I hesitate… and screw it up.

I am not alone. Many other men struggle with this… so I know now my problem is not unique. And I am still that jackass. I make the decision for you. I am not worthy. I am not ready. You deserve better.

Why, oh why, can’t I make that decision AFTER we have our fun?

You want it. I want it.

I want you.

So, why, for Christ’s sake, don’t I act like it?

You even call me out. “I guess we’ve run out of things to say.”

But we haven’t. Can’t you hear me screaming how much I want you?

No, you can’t. Because I don’t say a word. I look into your eyes, with longing.

Like a jackass.

I cannot say a word. I don’t want to lose you.

Even though, through my silence—my shyness—I already have.

God damn it.