Love never starts in remarkable ways.
It’s the ability to make it last that renders its beauty.
I met him and saw ordinariness.
That is not the love stories we read about when we indoctrinate ourselves into believing we deserve a prince charming simply for existing.
No one must know of my weaknesses and inadequacies. I haven’t been myself for so long now. It’s on days when only rain keeps me company in the hubbub of my mind that I recall just how alone I truly feel.
I sought for those who could mend my heart.
He was the one.
Everything and everyone else was wrong; what then? I should wait for a future uncertain, comfortable in my innaction.
“Life just happens” isn’t that what they told us in our prepubescence.
I recall, late at night, I whispered his name. He truly was the dream.
Happily ever after was the constant quest to a better tomorrow in his arms.
Having him inside of me meant everything. To him it meant another Tuesday night.
Hindsight hurts; clarity still feels uncertain.
The feel of a man on my body remained unfamiliar. No man has ever known how to hold me right. Not in the tightness or length of embrace but in meaning.
Oh, how I need to be held like I matter.
Love the scars that even time has yet to heal. He looked at me different, so I fell into my love for him.
I was foolish to think that loving him hard enough might make him stay when all he wanted was to leave.
There was no depth to his gaze. The moment he lived in wasn’t a choice, it was all that he knew. I recognize my tendency to idealize people that are unable to protect, uplift or support me.
He could at no moment fix things he still can’t fathom. Potential is never a sustainable fuel for love.
I am not oblivious to him creeping in. I see him holding onto my love like the last thread on the rope of feared desolation. The truth is that I love him because I chose to, not because I needed to. I don’t love him despite his flaws, I love him because of them.
Is the only thing truly keeping us apart my inability to love myself more than I do him.
The pain and complications weren’t steering me away but closer from the me I believed he deserved.
Letting go was not an option. A life from afar is no life at all.
Here we were. I want to be looked at like beauty was defined by my soul, my entire being spelling his perfection.
Am I not deserving of a love that lasts a thousand years?
I won’t need him as much. I won’t once I realise how much I love myself, or rather how much I should. This pain is just the manifestation of not loving me enough. If I did, it wouldn’t hurt so bad that he won’t.
So go on.
Be a happier version of you even with someone debilitatingly dull.
I wanted to be the mountain to his sea, but he swallowed me whole following the moon.
I became too good at hiding my pain in the crevices of myself I don’t allow anyone in.
You will not see me cry.
You will not hear me erode away.
You will never know of my burden unless you’re prepared to release me of it.
But he is weak. Weaker than he knows.
A simple-minded boy he is.
Undeserving of the love I incurred upon him because its intensity is more than he knew what to do with. Its truth and purity is one that he cannot reciprocate, because he never learned to draw within the depths of himself the strength to carry on living when the entire universe has turned its back on you.
Sometimes I hear a knock at the door, but I am met with a crystalline fishbowl of vacancy. It’s coming from within.
My body is on its knees, begging me to end its suffering because the pain has long ceased.
Live. Breathe. Be.
Allow your soul to appropriate your body.
It all seems so simple. I wasn’t locked out, I was locked in.
Attempting to control everything will not magically turn him into who I need him to be. Trying my hardest is not going to guarantee the results I so desperately hoped for. Loving him doesn’t make him love me back. Missing him will not make him come back. And him coming back will not mend the heart he broke.
Even if he could make me happy, that wasn’t quite what I wanted.
My heart had to be broken so I could remember how to make it whole.
When my eyes are too heavy to stare into blankness, I drift to a place of safety.
There, I am finally understood.
He tainted it.
He tainted my mind.
Shamelessly promising a life he could never provide.
The weight of the world will anchor me.
It forbade me from moving forward, and I didn’t know how to rid of it once. My feet were bleeding through and people passed me by because I shed no tears for strangers.
I must be fine. I ought to be.
I stay away from happiness because I don’t know how to hold onto it.
I am desired, yet the gaze people have upon me solely roots from lust.
My body is no temple, lacks love and nurture. Nor is it sacred. It is dilapidated, used and valueless.
A chiffon doll forgotten by more remarkable playthings.
Oversighted for its apparent lack of fragility, but the sutures are ruptured.
Buried in hardship, I lay in the corner of a somber room, as the easy way never attracted me. It never felt right.
Easy is never sustainable for people like me. The true reward is not in the obtention but in the labor put into attaining.
Monotony may be striking to you but I want so much more out of life.
Is it realistic to hope for more?
I will stay strong because it is the thickest layer of the skin I am so accustomed to feeling ill in.
The world is made of water and faith. I will not let despair consume me. I will swim in the faith the world wraps me in even if I drown.
I’m not too much, you’re simply not enough.
I will wonder where you are no more. The compass inside my heart is steering me towards a love that’s true. A love you do not possess.
Your words aren’t reiterated by your action. They’re just lies.
I taught you how to treat me.
I am guilty.
I taught you wrong.
You cannot mend my heart.
Only I can.
Once it is beating its hardest for someone who will nurture it, you will look back at this moment as the single biggest mistake you’ve ever made. The last tears I will shed over you will be of joy, for you were the best thing I never had.