I wanted you to see me when you looked at me, instead of just a reflection of yourself. A tangible representation of what you created. A living, breathing, flawed human woman.
This year, we wonder in awe at how we still somehow know the way home, even when the directions are gone and not even the sun is there to guide us.
I’ve learned that missing someone is just the beginning of grief. I’ve learned that comfort comes in varying shades, but none of it will ever make me feel complete again.
That you are stupid for thinking he ever would. He will tell you that you are nothing. Then he will leave.
I think I’m just being honest, but I’m saying things and they are making you feel naked and you don’t like it. I mistakenly assume that everyone wants to be as transparent as me. Me, with my heart dripping down my sleeves. I wear it proudly and then cry when someone breaks it.