Effort.

You change as swift as the direction of the wind. Maybe it's me who isn't ready. Maybe I'm the immature one who handles herself too well, the realist who analyzes the consequences rather than be the optimist who conjures up all the possibilities of a happily ever after. What's so horrid about me? That I'm hard working, heart strung with a rough background? That I have so much baggage from the past which broke and shattered the child from within myself to form all these insecurities? Or maybe it's you. You who can't handle the times when I just need a shoulder for comfort, my odd moments when I shower you with what ways I could express my affection for you. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be with anyone.