My therapist once told me that overcoming an addiction is a daily battle: I will always crave a cigarette on my lunch breaks, and I will always instinctively reach for a razor blade when life is on overdrive. Every day is a war with my mind to not give in to itself. I wonder if it’s going to be like that with you, too. I wonder if every day I will fight not to pick up the phone just so I can hear your voice.
Loving someone who doesn’t love you back in the same way is a suffering unlike any other. Every minute in their presence is a reminder of what you are not, what you never will be: enough for them. And in the process of loving them, you end up hating yourself.
Looking back, I’m thankful that you hurt me. If you hadn’t, I probably would have stayed.
That’s the funny thing about pain,” she said. “You suffer through it. And looking back, you’ll remember that you had it. But you’ll never be able to remember exactly how it felt– only how huge it seemed to be. You’ll remember that you were hurting, who hurt you, and how. But once you overcome the pain, your heart callouses. You won’t be able to feel the knives in your lungs anymore, or the way every word they said was a hammer to your ribcage. Eventually, it becomes a black and white memory of something you had experienced in color. And in some ways that is so beautiful,” she mused, “because it allows us to try again despite all we’ve been through.
She was always so animated when she talked. You could stare at her for hours, observing the way she used her hands when she was excited, or how her eyebrows would furrow and wrinkle when she was deep in thought. Her face was a poem you knew by heart.
But her eyes– there was something about her eyes– the way they darted and fluttered like a bird, never landing anywhere for more than a few seconds. Never finding home. Always wary of settling anyplace for too long– as though if you had a second to look into them you might see pain you’d never noticed before; and if she looked into yours, she might see love and not know what to do with it.
We are searching for love because we fear loneliness. We fear loneliness because we fear ourselves.
She knows she is a diamond– she is not waiting for you to tell her so. She is simply waiting for you to realize it yourself.
If only you were in my life as prevalently as you are in my dreams.
She feels like a limb I didn’t know I was missing; she feels like home.
You are my sun; your body against mine is the only warmth I need.
Silenticel 