Too Good to Be True
They say good things are too good,
as if goodness must always come
wrapped in suspicion, tied tight with fear.
A gift we hesitate to open,
our hands shaking,
waiting for the explosion of imperfection
to burst through the seams.
We are told to expect flaws,
to prepare for cracks in the foundation,
to notice the slight bend in the frame
that holds the portrait of what we desire.
And we nod, agreeing that no one escapes
this life without scars,
that the closets in our minds
are always crowded with baggage
we swore we would someday unpack.
Imperfection is where the beauty lives,
in the rough edges that catch the light,
in the wounds that heal
but leave a story behind.
Still, we guard ourselves.
We study their foibles,
keep a catalog of their quirks,
and measure them against the fear
of losing what might be real.
The ones who seem to understand us,
the ones who make the world click,
become the ones we question the most.
Why does the comfort of alignment
carry the weight of unease?
Why does the mirror they hold up
make us want to turn away?
Perhaps it is not their flaws we fear,
but the reflection of our own.
We brace ourselves for love
that feels too familiar,
too capable of breaking through
the walls we have so carefully built.
Too good to be true?
Or simply too close to what we crave
and too close to what we fear
to let ourselves believe it?