this year has been quite the mess, hasn't it? You lose some, and lose some more, barely even win some but I guess that's just how life goes. You've been aware of it the majority of your life so it's kind of weird having to see you be a bit surprised at the many curveballs—didnt you use to say life has a way of being unfair but that sometimes your worst days can come out being your best days? You're doing good champ and Im proud of you.
See? it's not all so bad right? yeah it hurt, but then the hurt was all the evidence you needed that you loved well. And you did, you loved best, and someday you'll find someone who'll choose you everyday. Sure it can be quite disappointing, getting to know all of that and realizing you won't get the full truth out of the situation but you've realized that you're worth more than not being considered by people who claim to love, care and respect you. You realize there is no home there, the hearth long gone cold, table long left empty—and sitting there, in the middle of it, gracing it with your presence is not the same. You can admit it. You can stop pretending. Stop trying to put fruit over fruit on the empty plate in the hopes of a shared meal. This has to end at some point. You stand, gather the plates and the utensils and you begin to see the thick dust that has long settled between you on the table. And even though, you wished for that one brief tender smile you used to share between each other, you have long learned they've chosen to look away. In guilt, in their own choice, in trying to keep that last sliver of love and respect they held for you—you will never know. And that will be for the best, because despite the many wrongs you've begun to see clearly one afternoon, there is still the remnant of what they used to be on your open palms, that sliver of orange they've peeled so delicately for you. They have loved you best at one point, their old promises whispered hotly against your ears still sing against your skin but that is all they'll ever be—unwritten poems between the two of you. There was once a story here, once a place you shared between the two of you where you built a lego house of dreams but even that can lose its color and foundation. and you will smile despite it all, because you have loved and was loved.
And you will put away the dishes, make the table one last time, leave your own pieces of delicately peeled orange slices. You will look at it one last time, commit it somehow to memory. Every nook, every misshapen knick knacks you've both collected over the years, the many knicks on the wooden table —you will take this photo with you and you will keep it. To put into a frame someday, when you're old enough to relive silly litol memories that make up the whole of you but for now you keep it in your pocket, lock the doors and walk away.
kianamaiart
ellievsbear
vaporwave
andulkaphoto
