I could travel to the opposite end of this Earth, and I know I would still carry you with me. I don’t know how to shake you. I crave distance now. I want infinate space. Maybe. 

Less than 

I don’t know how much I’ve learned of love, or lust or what happens in the in between, but I do know that getting lost in another broken person doesn’t make you feel whole. When you cut yourself on their shards, and still tend to their wounds, you end up feeling less than, and sometimes less than you’ve ever felt before


I read that we are not afraid of love but afraid of not being loved back.
I’m afraid that with each passing year, I have become hard of heart yet I want to be soft. I want to be as soft as the flesh thats pads my sturdy bones. As soft as my eyes when they swell with tears. I want my heart to be sculpted by hands that could melt metal and break wood.
I want to be reminded that the love I give is not shameful. It is a gift. 


For too long I’ve dreaded aloneness, afraid of feeling forgotten or overlooked. Unwanted. Unloved. I binged and purged on the attention of others and resented them when it wasn’t enough and resented them more when it was too much. 

I’d forgotten what it was like to be apart and on my own. To choose company instead of demanding it and desperately needing it to fill the void I felt in my bones. So frightened of being forgotten that I forgot myself. Life is quiet right now and I feel safe.