Holding Out For a Hero.

“It could all be gone tomorrow. Always remember that.”

I’m afraid to love you. I’m afraid that you’ll leave and that I’ll go back to being alone again. Only it will be a hundred times worse because I’ll know what I’m missing. …I want to be able to love you more than I fear losing you, and I don’t know how. Teach me… Please teach me. Don’t let me destroy this.

Replacing “Why is this happening to me?” with “What is this trying to tell me?” has been a game changer for me.

I know the past will drag you backward and down, have you snatching at whispers of wind and the gibberish of trees rubbing together, trying to decipher some code, trying to piece together what was broken. It’s hopeless. The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone. Take it from me: If your hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging at your back and running its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do — the only thing to do — is run.

I don’t care what you do to me, but I don’t want you to hurt me. I’ve had enough hurt already in my life. More than enough. Now I want to be happy.

I don’t need someone to need me; I want someone to want me. I want to be a choice not a necessity.

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.