The Stewardessen Breakfast Club

I know it’s not easy to be with someone like me–someone made of hearts and sleeves and temper.

I’m not easy.

Sometimes I wish I had a firmer grip on my wild, over-emotional, too-big-for-its-own-good, runaway heart.

I’m sorry.

This doesn’t come lightly.

I don’t naturally wear my heart on my sleeve, but with you I am made of nothing but sleeves.

Before you I am naked, with all my joys and all my sorrows etched into my skin.

You have seen me cry with abandon over small bumps in the road, seen me vulnerable while I slept curled against your side, seen me collapse onto the floor with laughter.

You have seen me storm though the day like a hurricane in search for ground.

I’m sorry I let you see so much.

I take the blame for this without putting up a fight, if you want me to. Whatever you need. I’d give you anything.

I know I can’t win this–but that won’t make me fight any less. I am not asking for forgiveness, this will happen again.

This is who I am.

What I am asking you is to try again. We need another shot at this. It’s not too late to say

I’m sorry.

N.