I wear my scars like souvenirs that I shouldn’t be holding onto as I have.
I’ve loved people with everything I’ve had in me, only to give it my all and leave myself with nothing.
I hold onto the past like it’s a catchy tune on repeat, but I keep pushing replay.
And I think about old loves who have moved on. I look at myself still hung up over it.
Like it’s my fault for the love they couldn’t give me.
Like it’s my best that was never good enough.
I never pin heartbreak on those who deserve its blame.
I never say it was them who was flawed or unworthy of all I had to give.
Instead, I look at my reflection analyzing a list of shortcomings.
The blame gets placed on things I can’t change about myself.
I keep trying to be what they want and need only to realize every time I change, I lose myself more in the process.
I lose myself trying to keep people who aren’t mine.
I lose myself clinging to the past.
I look at the people they love and the happy relationships they find themselves in, and I wonder what she has that I didn’t.
Because as they go to bed together, I’m laying in a bed too big for one clinging to a sweatshirt I should have thrown out by now.
The words “what if” play in my mind and I know I shouldn’t be saying those things.
The pictures on my phone feel like yesterday. And I know I should delete them, but I can’t seem to. I refuse to look at the calendar and accept how much time has passed.
I’ve gotten love right once, and I don’t know how I did it?
I don’t know to mimic such a thing.
Sometimes I wonder if pain is all I’ll ever know.
Sometimes I wonder if I like it.
I like knowing when everyone leaves, at least pain I can rely on.
Of the many inconsistent things in my life, pain isn’t one of them.
And people ask about sadness and how I just know.
They thank me for feeling things so deeply.
But it’s happiness that is so unfamiliar.
I float through the motions painfully content.
Knowing there’s more out there.
Knowing there’s something I’m missing. Or rather someone.
I keep thinking I met him and he’s already gone.
But what if I haven’t?
What if I’m one strange encounter away from someone teaching me this pain I’ve held onto for so long isn’t mine to harbor?
I look forward to the day I release it from my grip and stop holding on so tightly to everything I should let go of.
I look forward to the day someone looks at me with confidence in their eyes, like they’ve spent their whole life trying to find me too.