Flashback Friday
I wonder what baring my soul actually looks like. I can't seem to remember. Maybe I'm going to find out the remnants of my soft underbelly, actually became calloused and goose skinned while I was too busy telling myself self-love was the key. She keeps telling me, with what sounds like admiration, I'm so self-aware. For all my self-awareness, I still can't pinpoint some small inch of my heart that's sealed closed. If I could give it to her I would. Except I don't know what "it" is. I can't even articulate what I'm feeling or what I'm holding in. I thought maybe journaling it out would help me unearth whatever fear is lurking in my shadows. The problem is, it's turning into nostalgia. Maybe it's mourning? Mourning that last time I was in the throws of real feelings. I was so young and free. My heart was pure. While I feel the heart I house now is better than the original... actually... I need a message to myself. As pure as the love was for Lena, it was only a seed. I'm glad I burst out of my suffocating sac of toxic behaviors I believed to define love. My ability to love is no longer a seedling, I'm growing into a tree.
That's still not it. It'll hit me, and when it does, it'll be over. I'll have found my everlasting love.
That's still not it. It'll hit me, and when it does, it'll be over. I'll have found my everlasting love.