Stamped right behind my neck

I come in a very petite package. I’ve moved myself along over the years, raising my arms in rage, opening cuts in places no one could ever see, protesting inside myself and never to others. A constant and infinite conflict in my head, in my body, in my soul. I don’t sing ever, mom always said it was good for the soul. I don’t sing. I don’t laugh watching foolish comedies, I do, however, cry in dramas and silly romances. I like to sleep a lot, I hate falling asleep though, I hate the foul hours just before we wonder into our dreams, and nightmares. I live at night so when I finally hit my bed, I’m too tired to care, to dream, to think, to wonder. I keep moving, I plan, I plan my day the day before, I carefully pick what I’m to wear the next day, I plan my birthdays, I plan my weekends, I plan pretty much everything in advance. I don’t, however, plan my heart. I don’t plan to fall in love, I’ve never even dreamt of finding my knight in shining armor. Knowing that I can’t plan this, I avoid. I avoid people, I avoid the contact, the relations. I learnt very early in my life that you can’t hide, but screw that, you sure can run. And I’m a runner. I’m somewhat broken, from the people I’ve met, from the things I’ve seen. When you meet me, and when you agree to such things as to be by my side, you should know, that this petite package is wrapped in very rough paper sand. Willing you agree to sit by my side and hold my hand, you should know this beforehand. You should know that the rough paper sand on the outside hides something quite interesting on the inside. The trick here is, will you let me take the wrapping sand paper slowly off, while I let you in, or are you too eager, and will you try to rip it off? I’ve stopped raising my arms in rage. I’m just here now. I’m very quietly just here. Please do handle with care, I’ve got “fragile” stamped right behind my neck. I promise to learn how to do the same. Together. Shall we? Learn together?