On being 30
When I was 27 I loved someone who was wrong for me in every way. I fell hard. Like a stack of papers blown unexpectedly in a summer breeze. I didn’t know how to put myself together again when the relationship ended. I believed I would never be good enough. I fell hard.
When I was 28 I loved someone who loved me more than I loved them. I broke his heart. He went on to find someone to mend it, tenderly, lovingly, the way he deserved. I didn’t know how to tell him I was sorry, I was still broken from my own fall. Still learning the boundaries of my rib cage.
When I was 29 I loved someone that felt like home. It was never mine to live in. But I wandered it’s labyrinth of hallways. Looked at the photographs on the walls and admired the faces of the people I wished I were. I wanted to belong here so badly.
