You think it's time for a new beginning. You long to start from scratch, so you seek new things - trying like hell to reinvent yourself. Out with the old and in with the world's new. But you'll never create a version of yourself that is as magical and unique as the original. So... just be you.
If I read inspirational words, they better have some pain to back them up. My strength for moving forward has never been sparked by flowery prose calling me and Angel. Tell me how you swallowed Hell, and lived to tell the tale... the 'pain' and your transformation - will inspire me to soar. And I promise you, I will listen.
To the person in my future...I hope you're ready, because I'm going to love you... fiercely. You'll never have to suffer for my past heartache. It's taught me that I need love more than the absence of it. I'm not perfect, nor is my track record. I've experienced a lot of takers in my life - but I'll love you with every part of me that remains.
I want you. I want you inside and out. The parts you cover with laughter. The depth you shrug off with indifference. I want you. I want you to take me to the place you've hidden your heart. I want to walk by your side on this journey. You're worth it. We're worth it. Because... I want you.
You're asking yourself if you will ever get over it. - I don't believe we ever do. Getting over something implies you floated on past the pain, blew kisses, and waved goodbye while leaping to freedom. I've never been able to jump after having the contents of my heart scattered and sewn over fields that will produce memory-laden blooms. The thing is... you get through it. But the seeds have been planted. Those memories grow. And every morning I still hear: 'He loved me. He loved me not.
I always wanted you close. Never more than a heartbeat away. I used to think I wanted you most when I was at my weakest, and relying on your strength. But the truth is, even on the days I raged like a lion, and had no need of a 'pat on the back' - I still found myself wanting to lean on you.
It may happen once or perhaps several times during your lifetime, but you'll meet a 'soulmate'. The bond will be instantaneous. They'll be a perfect fit for the empty indention your heart has for rent, and you'll almost think you 'wished' them into existence. One touch... and every pent-up emotion you have buried, will flood your aching heart. The magic is never more apparent that when you realize each of your souls are a perfect template of each other.
I'm not simple. Loving me will never be easy. I bring every travesty that's rocked me- with me, to the table. I won't pretend to be something I'm not, and I don't expect you to be blemish free either. That's much too boring of an existence. A past means you've lived, you've prevailed. My ears are open. My heart is accepting. I want to know how you are. I want to know what made you... and I want to feel free to share the 'not so pretty' parts of me, with you.
Like yourself, just as you are. Don't look at people and measure your self love by what they project in order to make themselves happy. Take a long look. You don't want their lives anyway. You don't like anything they do, say, or portray. Why then have you been so hard on yourself? You don't deserve to be treated that way.
When our eyes met, I felt your intake of breath. I knew then I wasn't alone in my feelings. You were trying to hold on to normalcy as much as me. But baby, what we felt was anything but normal. The damn planet stopped moving... and it didn't start up again until you reached out and touched me.
You are not disposable. I know you feel that way when people choose to walk out of your life, but their emptiness causes space. And that vacant area of your life is desperately crying out for the one meant to take up residence. Let the angry tenant go. You don't want someone staying because you've begged and pleaded for their occupancy. You want the one who sees your quaking heart and says: "Honey I'm home".
I'm not afraid of anything anymore. I've found out Ghosts don't hide under my bed or in my closets either. They exist in plain sight - everyday; Conjured up by 'our song' playing on the radio. By the mailman's blue eyes that are so like yours I could get utterly lost in them. They come as raindrops, kissing my skin... the way you used to. Ghosts are everywhere.
I never needed a Man. I needed a Viking. I needed someone who wasn't afraid of my strengths, or of my needs. I chose wrong... in the past. I thought I had to find someone who could put up with my hunger for life. But I was so damn wrong. I needed a Viking. I needed someone who would admire all the things about me that tepid men were intimidated by.
... I don't know what I feel anymore, or maybe it's that I don't know HOW to feel anymore. I question every move I make, every breath I take, and every flutter of an eyelash. I've developed a twitch from always being on guard. I'm alert at night, and numb during the day, but I'm always ready. Maybe, I can intercept tragedy from striking again.
They will talk about you and it won't always be good. You won't even know them but they will critique you - and judge you - and everything you stand for. Their words will cut through your heart-strings and make you question the hopes and dreams that have gnawed your soul since birth. I warn you, because I believe your unique gift of expression needs to be shared. Resist cowering down and holding back for fear of rejection. Spread those creative wings and create. But, prepare yourself. Because naysayers are not a possibility, they are a guarantee.
I am vulnerability under scarred skin. Numbness crawling behind wine soaked lips. A cocoon of grief battling a chest full of hushed breaths, longing to escape the mod-podge of memories, that journal where I've been. Layer after layer they are sealed upon my person, encapsulating time in a vessel that has sailed one too many shores.
Just because she doesn't talk about it, doesn't mean she isn't feeling it. She hurts, but she won't wear it on her sleeve. She will never let an illness, a diagnosis, or a prediction, define her. She doesn't want sympathy, because that type of attention is not her goal. She'd rather you see the woman who smiles in the face of adversity, than be the one who begs you to see her frown.