Fractured

Determining whether or not this is real is more difficult than 138 tests or job interviews.
I always knew the answers to those questions.
But in that number of days with you, I still can’t answer the question:
“Are you too good to be true, or am I too broken to see the difference?”
When you text me every day with good morning,
And I smile, but by afternoon find fault with the mundane texting,
Is it because I’m looking for one man’s unpredictability and charisma in you?
That same man who stood me up in front of my family,
Drinking all night and then spending time with someone who dropped by
Instead of coming to eat all the food I bought for him,
When you’ve always been there when you said you’d be.
Or is it because I’m searching for signs that you know me as well as a different man did,
Waiting for a time that being around you feels as crucial, yet as easy as inhaling oxygen?
That same man who swore we were close and then stopped calling
Or setting a time to answer soon after we were not in the same house,
When you are consistent in making time for me.
Is it because I’m hoping you’ll be as assertive as another man in showing your attraction to me?
That when you decide not to kiss me or even hug me, that some perverse part of me
Wishes for the passionate advances of someone who tried to take what he wanted
Without listening to my requests to stop?
When you might only be attempting to move slowly and respect me.
Or am I looking for flattery and poetic proclamations of your desire for me?
Like the man who wrote a story about me when I was fifteen and he was twenty-three,
Telling me his fantasies about me and asking for cliched pictures of me in a bathing suit,
The first to set the tone for my interactions with men.
When you would rather let harm come to you than harm someone else.
Are you concerningly flawed, or am I only looking at you in a broken mirror?