I smiled and laughed, and you admitted that you fell for those things the most. Every time my eyes are glimmering in tears from laughing too much at your joke, I tend to stop suddenly and see you staring at me. Staring like I was something worth your attention. And when you do things like that, I know for a fact that my happiness can bring yours out, too.
You love me when I tell you funny stories—like that one where my uncle saw what he thought was a ghost and he ran like a kid, or the one where my cousins lined up in front of me on Christmas and asked me for money.
You love me whenever you see me watching Tangled, because you know Eugene is my favorite and Maximus makes me LOL.
You love me when I wear my worn out pink shoes. Even though it's old, you know I feel comfortable wearing. You don't even mind that I can't tie the shoelaces, and that you have to do it for me.
You love me when my heart is light.
But you only love me when my heart is light.
When I called you at the middle of the night, crying. When I needed sometime to hold on to because I can't even carry the weight of everything anymore. When things come crumbling down like an avalanche. You just weren't there.
And yet you thought you had the right to tell me, "It's so hard to love you."
It took days for the words I never wanted to hear to sync in. To claw on my already damaged heart. Days. But that's not true at all, I know.
I'm not hard to love. You're just weak enough to do so. You just loved me when I danced in the rain, but you didn't think twice of leaving me when it became a storm.