I think I've moved on to part two of recovery.
I used to go to bed feeling like something was taken from me. Like a chunk of my heart was just ripped from my naive chest.
That feeling of aggressive pain has softened into an ache just sore enough to be a relentless reminder that it's there.
What I'm left with is emptiness–a hollow chamber of limitless love but no one to share it with. What I'm left with is an overwhelming need to feel wanted.
I realize now how much my confidence relies on the acceptance of others. Maybe that's why it's verging nonexistent. I realize now that for me to love myself, I need to be loved by others. Unfortunately, that's no longer viable.
Ever since the breakup, almost six months now, I haven't so much as gotten hit on, let alone been loved. I'm undesirable. I went from being the muse of the sexiest, most perfectly imperfect man to
undesirable.
And, God, it's hitting me hard. Were you just a fluke? Is that really all I am?
undesirable?
Am I over you? No. I don't think I'll ever be. But I'm getting there. I'm making progress. I'm beginning to see a world where my priority is no longer what you think of me or if you love me or if I'm good enough for you. But now, I just need someone to remind me that I'm worth it. I need someone to want me, even just for one night. I need someone, just for a second, to remind me that perhaps I'm not just
undesirable.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Moments
RomansaThis isn't a story about love. Well, at least it doesn't look like it right now. It's just me. I don't think there's enough out there about what happens when that love ends. What does it look like to be raw and vulnerable? What does it feel like to...
