You’ve built your home in my heart, but like a stubborn child, you’re trying to prove that you can live so far away from where you belong.
I am done with you and everything you put me through.
I want to feel like you want me in your life and it isn’t just me trying for this thing.
He left you because he didn’t see you as somebody who he would want to be with. He left because he didn’t see a future with you. He left because he was tired. He left because he isn’t happy anymore.
I can’t hate you for leaving because life is too short to hold onto things and people that don’t fill our hearts with happiness and purpose.
He supports who I am and what I love to do. He has never criticized my writing, but encouraged me to continue to push boundaries and explore my mind even further.
I left you because while I loved you, I was not ready to be a wife again. I was not ready to be a daughter in law again, I was not ready to be a fiancé again, I was hardly ready to be a girlfriend again.
i will never understand why i felt the hurt of burnt the time my fingertips accidentally collided with fire, when the pain suddenly disappeared like nothing happened.
I know the anxiety that comes from the unknown. I know the bartering that goes on: begging the minute hand to move just a little bit slower. I know people will write in their own goodbye scene and it won’t always be the one we pictured.
Calling my time in New York a failure because it ended would make about as much sense as calling a long plane ride a failure because the plane eventually landed.