The love letter(s)

It takes a lot of courage to be me right now. I’ve never asked to be hurt. I asked once, and so I got hurt. What am I doing wrong? Is it the fact that I do not ask people not to hurt me? Is it the fact that the world and all humans are fucked up and get turned on by hurting? Is it satisfying you? Now that would be pretty darn sick. Or is it the fact that I am "too sensitive”?

You know, last night when I struggled to get some sleep, I was thinking about writing you a letter. A letter that would explain what I felt for you and why I reacted like I did. Why you haven’t heard from me for a while and how shitty it feels to stay away from you. How a part of me dies when I can not be embraced by you, when I can not look into your eyes, your beautiful soul.

How you could take a piece of paper, turn it into a swallow and actually make it fly.

I imagined the letter in my head, last night. But I didn’t finish it. And now, 24 hours later, tears are dripping into my tea. I guess I am not the fortunate one, I have never been.

I read your words today, oh stupid me. It makes me laugh a bit out of angst, before the tears go all wild and crazy again. This is like the 2nd time in a few months that I get the privilege to experience the feeling of being the one who may not be that important after all. To be the one who’s standing first in line with a lot of feelings involved, while someone else is making her way just passing me with ignorance. I simply just follow her fashion like walk, and then I look back at him and he‘s…gone. And so is she. Maybe I wasn’t first in line. Maybe there are no lines. Then why am I drawing lines?

You really, no I mean really, take my breath away.