Writers 
I was never vulnerable with anyone.
I goof around. I act all smart. I make people laugh, keep things light, and somehow always look like I have everything figured out. No one ever had to beat me into becoming smart. I learned early how to stand on my own, how to read a room, how to keep my emotions where nobody could reach them.
I make friends easily, but I don't let people get too deep.
I keep my distance even when I'm close. I have always had my guards up, even around the people I call friends. There is always a part of me that remains untouched, inaccessible. I can sit in a room full of people and still somehow belong only to myself.
I'm the most interesting guy in the room because I know what I like. My taste is high. My standards are higher. Rules don't really work on me because, in my head, I don't follow the rules.
I am the rules.
And I never really had to worry about anyone.
I was perfectly comfortable being that person.
Until you happened.
Without even realizing it, you became my weakness.
Somewhere along the way, you started becoming part of every decision I made. I would think about what you would say, what you would want, how something would affect you. I didn't consciously choose it. It just happened.
You became part of my calculations without my permission.
And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.
Because suddenly, there was someone I could lose.
Then someone else came along and took your attention, and for the first time, all that confidence I had built around myself couldn't protect me. I couldn't joke my way out of it. I couldn't pretend I didn't care.
I was terrified.
Terrified that I was about to lose you.
So I finally said the thing I had probably been trying not to say for a long time.
I told you I loved you.
Just in time.
And somehow, I got you back.
But getting you back didn't make the vulnerability disappear. If anything, it made it worse.
Because now I knew exactly what I had to lose.
It isn't jealousy, not really.
It's fear.
Fear of losing you. Fear that one day you might realize I'm not enough for you. Fear that no matter how much I give, it still won't be enough. Fear that I'll give you everything I have and somehow still leave you wanting more.
And that's the strange thing about you.
I can be the strongest person in the room until you walk into it.
Then everything changes.
My guards come down without me telling them to. The confidence, the smart mouth, the independence, the whole "I don't need anybody" attitude just disappears.
And suddenly, I'm that little boy again.
The one who just wants his mummy.
The one who wants to be held. Reassured. Chosen. Loved without having to wonder whether he's enough.
With everyone else, I can pretend I have no weaknesses.
With you, I don't even want to pretend.
You have seen the part of me I spent years protecting from everyone else, and somehow, instead of making me feel small, it makes me want to stay.
So yes, I would do anything for you.
Not because I have to.
Not because I am weak.
But because somewhere along the way, loving you became the one thing I don't want to be strong enough to walk away from.
