Becca Martin

You don’t get to come into her life again when she’s trying to heal and reopen the wounds, the wounds that you left her with.

It’s kind of like she’s Taylor Swift and you’re the no one in the background of all her pictures. People see you, but their focus is all on her.

I miss pulling someone a little closer when they’re about to pull away from a hug because you don’t want to let them go. But more than anything, I miss having someone to miss.

I still cry at sad songs, but not because they remind me of you.

I want you to love me for the way I wear my hair in a towel after I get out of the shower and have black smeared all under my eyes.

I’ll always pull for happy couples in love, always, always, always because I don’t see any other way to live.

As happy as I am for them, it’s also hard to always be happy for someone else when you just want to be happy yourself.

I just keep to myself, I just beat myself up between my own two ears because to me that is easier. That is the way I operate. I’m not saying it’s healthy and I’m not saying it’s good, but it’s what I do.

Thank you for rejecting me. It might have hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as silence. It didn’t hurt as much as staring at my phone with a lump in my throat wondering why I haven’t heard back from him.

You wouldn’t throw away your favorite vase because it got a few smudges on it, you’d polish it up and take care of it before putting it back on display for the world to see.

When every ounce of my body is telling me to pack up and leave again, I want you to ask me to stay.

“I know what I’m getting when I’m with him and I’ve accepted it. I might not be really happy, but is anyone?”