oh, honey. all fire but no flame. in over your head and hiding under an argument, flailing and fragile and trying to forgive yourself for knowing better but saying yes anyway. mad at everyone else for a choice they told you not to make. soon you’ll see the difference between what he gives and what he’s taking. soon you’ll feel the difference between who’s just barely bending and who’s breaking.
I just stopped writing. There came a point where it hurt too much to let the pain travel all the way from my heart to my fingertips and on to a page. I didn’t want to dig that deep into myself, leaving a hole I’d inevitably try to fill up again with something or someone I needed to learn to live without. Even if living without them felt like the closest I’ve ever been to dying, it had to be done. So I swallowed my words and held on to my hurt just to know I had something nobody could take away from me.
I want you to remember that your definition of happiness is not universal. That skies are not always blue, but gray can be just as beautiful. That you can never miss something you never had and to find comfort in knowing you were not, and will not always be, alone. That no taste, no smell, no sound is the same to you as it is to others and that in itself is a beautiful thing. I need you to remember how small you are, but how big your voice is. Remember that a passion burns inside of you for a handful of different things and with that you can blaze a path to a life you love waking up to. Burn, baby, burn.
You believed in the way he made you feel, addicted to how good it felt to have pieces of him running through your veins. You were caught in the thrill, in the adrenaline. The way people get excited for roller coasters to drop so that they can climb their way to the top of a big scary hill again, you were like that when your heart dropped out of your chest; looking forward to the part where he put it back where it belonged. You picked up the pieces of the things he broke while he told you how good you were at it, and you swam in that back-handed compliment. You broke yourself down to the point you believed there was art in the way you tirelessly put your relationship back together. You loved the way his love made your taste buds tingle, so much he was all you consumed. You got high on how summer smelt when it was laced with him. And here you are, an addict, addicted to a love you always hoped he might share with you but never actually got a hit of.