I can handle heartbreak and tornadoes and destruction on a grand scale. What I can’t handle is being naked and uncomfortably open for strange eyes to see.
Maybe it’s wrong of me to be longing to go back to that time I was in a rickety bus with nothing but darkness outside and the sound of a song whose meaning I did not understand, when your eyes are gazing admiringly upon my face. But that song is stuck in my head, it always has been.
You know the kind of love that happens only once in a lifetime? I thought what we had was something close to that.
You love each other, yes, but it’s dying. It’s dying quietly, drowning in a festering discontent. Chipping away, moving forth; realizing your inherent desire to be alone. Your need to have nothing.
And sometimes I wonder if we truly learn to overcome heartbreak, if we ever pick up the pieces; or we simply learn to go on with holes in our heart and broken pieces all around us.
Everyone’s got baggage. Everyone has or will someday have that person that puts a crack in their heart and a bruise in their ego. He’s mine. And he’s going to be hard to forget.
You begin to want more. You knew you would have to wait for him to come around, but months have passed and everything is still superficial; something is just missing.
You’re allowed to be cautious. But don’t overdo it.
If you’re blaming past relationships for your emotional baggage, don’t, because the time spent on a failed relationship was not time wasted.
“You deserve so much better,” they said, “and he’s really not worth it.” To which my invariable response was, “But I still love him.”