My own little secret

I think I have a way with words

 I used to think that love required some tragedy. Some bad in the good. That was the Ying to the Yang, right? That's what keeps the world in balance, I mean, you can't truly appreciate the good without experiencing some bad. I think So much of that is such bullshit now.

I used to wonder when it was going to get easier, when it was going to feel easier; but love wasn't supposed to be easy.

It was supposed to hurt, it was supposed to be work, nothing came easy and you were supposed to work at it and give it your all.

What happens when you accidentally give it everything you had?

The only thing you got back was that tragedy that was supposed to make everything stronger, more solid somehow.

I used to wonder if there was something wrong with the way that I was looking at love. I wanted the love, but I hated the way I was feeling in between the little spurts of love.

There was no way that feeling this insecure was what real love stemmed from, right? They almost seemed to thrive off of knowing that they made me feel small, like nothing almost.

But babe, I called you hot didn't I? I showed you how much I wanted to have sex with you today? That's all for YOU.

Oh gee, how special. I was so sure that they would replace me the second they found something that triggered their squirrel size attention span, something quite a bit shinier.

I used to sit in my car, in a mall parking lot and cry.

Cry out all the emotions that I had been bottling up because speaking my mind was never my strong suite.

It took everything in me not to break down to them.

All I wanted was for them to look me in my eyes, see the pain I was drowning in, and just ask me if I was okay.

No one will ever have sympathy for the person who causes another individual pain.

But what about the pain that closed my throat more than once.

The pain that made it hard to peel myself off my sheets more times than I was able to count.

The pain that made me wonder if my friends and family missed having me around. All for what?

Someone who openly told me about life and how it was going to be once we were over? The person they were going to date once we broke up.

They had a life planned without me, they told me more than once that they had no faith in us. My brain somehow convinced me that I deserved nothing more than a love that was as unstable as I had been my whole life.

I deserved a love that wasn't as soft as I had always dreamt of. I didn't deserve the kind of love that has you softly looking into each other's eyes, your pupils in a softer embrace than your hands were capable of.

Soft kisses on the surface of your skin, every inch of your skin, no square inch was forgotten about. Something about soft kisses on your forearm makes everything around you feel warmer, safer.

Not words that felt like knives every time they touched your skin. Leaving wounds that you even stop seeing and just feel and forget about them.

To be made to feel like you're stupid by the one who is supposed to love you more than anything.

I had been made to feel stupid by so many people in my life, it was definitely normal to me, but the disappointment of feeling it from the person who was supposed to be my comfort? Unmatchable. A kind of sadness that makes you wish your vocal cords would snap, making you incapable of being such a nuisance again.

Feeling so small that you could fit in their pocket, I never want to feel that small again.