Sweet Enough To Tell Me That You Don’t Love Me

29 Jul

Not long ago, a man told me that I am perpetually heartbroken. Unfortunately, this man has no heart at all so I have decided not to take his word for a goddamn thing.

I’ve spent a lot of time and money healing my heart. At times, I have described myself as a hard-hearted woman. But I also feel I am tender hearted – things reach me faster and harder than other people, it seems, and they stay longer in my chest cavity.

Lately, what I think most about my heart is that it’s still there and that has proved to be the best thing. After all these miles and misadventures, I still ardently believe in love and believe that I will find love.

The truth of me is that I have spent most of my life loving monsters. I have kept their secrets and built their homes. I feel I am, overall, no worse for the wear. But now I must build my own home and tend to my own secrets.

I moved up here during the worst winter (like, statistically) and there were many dark days I spent either clenched behind the wheel or numbly staring at the snow, smoking the cigarettes I forgot I quit.

At first I thought I was sad because I had left behind so much I wanted and needed. The reality is less attractive – there was not much I needed in that city anymore, for better or worse.

I am trying to get out of my own way because I think that once I do, I will be unstoppable. I don’t know if I make sense anymore. I don’t know if I love anyone like I used to.

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