Pain

Said that I wouldn't push it, but I had one last thought before I go to sleep.
I would take the pain of losing you, knowing I had been able to see if we actually work as well as everyone thinks we do, over the pain of not trying, of not knowing every day for the rest of time if we could have worked. Because it is already too late for me not to hurt for loss of you. It is already late enough that no matter what happens, what we become, we are tied together. 6 in one hand, half dozen in the other. I don't have a winning hand, but at least one seems to be less foul, less wrong.

I know I can't save you. My super hero days are long past, because it turns out, I am not Batman. I am not Superman. I am not the hero. I am merely a mortal, a girl who looks out for the one person in her life who makes anything seem possible, even as broken as he is. I am a woman who sees so much potential in a man who doesn't see it. I will love you until forever, as much good it does me, because for it, I will hurt forever, knowing that one day, you will give up, no matter what I do. One day, you will be gone, and the pain very well may kill me, regardless of if we try to be more or not.

I love you.

That doesn't change because you don't want to pull me down, or because you don't want to hurt me. No matter what we do, at some point I will hurt. This way it is constant, very near to numbing, without the hope of knowing until one day I will have that sharp, bitter painfulness of immeasurable loss. If we try, there is happiness, and one day immeasurable pain. There isn't a choice otherwise.
For not letting me save you, you're doing your damndest to try to save me from the one outcome that is not changeable. You will, one day, hurt me, by not being here any more. And you would rather I not have the happiness as a balm, preferring I take the bitter pill in the hopes of lessening the pain.

THAT is where your selfishness lies; in not understanding that happiness would make the pain more manageable. Because we would have happiness, rather than uncertainty. A thousand small cuts without the proper care will kill just as surely as a fatal stab to the heart, but will hurt much more in the meantime.