SJ

She moved on and I feel sorry for you, because she overlooked your flaws, your temper, your selfishness, your inability to love anyone but yourself. She could have anyone in the world, but she still chose you every time. All you are now is a crease in her past, a scar on her chest, a memory that fades faster than a photograph of you in a sealed box, hidden. Maybe now she will fight for someone who loves her, instead of someone who sucks the life out of her, never satisfied, even with her beating heart in his greedy hands.

Lately I’ve been thinking about who I want to love, and how I want to love, and why I want to love the way I want to love, and what I need to learn to love that way, and who I need to become to become the kind of love I want to be…and when I break it all down, when I whittle it into a single breath, it essentially comes out like this: Before I die, I want to be somebody’s favorite hiding place, the place they can put everything they know they need to survive, every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, and be absolutely certain I will keep it safe. I will keep it safe.