We keep promising each other that we deserve better. That when a certain person walks into your life you’ll know exactly why all the other people walked out.
I am in a great transition. I was raised in a house 3 streets away from where I now sit, I grew in a house of a farm 45 minutes away, 30 if I speed. I’ve sped, home. To the house that holds all the love that has ever been given to me freely. I’ve lived in an apartment above my father’s business off and on for the last 6 years.
I commute now, just like I did to New York. But it’s different. It’s longer and harder. It’s scarier. Women being beaten, raped, knocked out. I’m exhausted by fear, fear of a foreign city, of being alone in a vast place. Walking alone in the dark neighborhoods. Past homeless people, past faceless people. Trust is such a foreign concept to me these days.
I broke up with my best friend and she lives in California now. I thought I was loved by people I gave a part of myself too. Instead, I am realizing that things don’t last. That maybe I should have enjoyed them a little more while they were happening.
Friends I have now are coming in and out. Revolving door. Because I end up getting hurt. So, what once was a deep understanding of each other becomes a shallow acquaintance. I want to yell. I want to shake them and ask them why we didn’t take care of each other’s feelings better. I want to ask if I mattered to them. I want to know why I ache for the loss and yet they seem just fine.
A lot of the people in my life have someone. Someone to laugh with over stupid things, to weep over painful things. To hold their hand. To rest a a hand on their shoulder. To gently uncurl your fisted hands, or your body when you grasp your knees and hide your face. They spread love into you with affection. With thoughts. With care. Slowly carefully, like the way my mom lotions her hands at night, gently and lovingly. With intent.
I want to hold someone. I want someone to hold me. Not just in my arms but in my heart. In my mind. In my memories. In my present. In my future.
I don’t really have friends, do I? Or at least it just feels like people just come in then leave. I need people to stay. I need people to look at me and tell me the truth if they can’t stay.
I need someone to pour my love into because my heart feels like it’s about to overflow and drown me in it.
Instead I shake my head, I try to pour the love back into myself knowing that only time will be the answer. Time. Because over time people come and go. But I will always have myself. Overtime I will meet people who see that love and who pour their love into me, so that I can stop spilling my love on people who don’t seem to want it.