Oh Darling

Yeah, I’ve got wounds.

Not the kind that heal cleanly, more like the kind that learn to disguise themselves as my personality.

I don’t remember where I end and the coping begins.

Just fragments of reaction.

Just patterns repeating in different rooms, different people, same ache. The same hunger.

Sometimes I think I was built from absence first…and everything else got added later just to make it look like I’m whole.

I’m an empty void and I attach to souls like his.

There is something sacred about evenings like this. The kind where the world finally stops demanding things from you. Vinyl crackling in the background, tea growing cold because conversation matters more, your hand lazily brushing against mine as if it belongs there.

What now?

You gonna psychoanalyze me, or finally admit you want me too?

Ya I’ve got attachment wounds. You want me to name them all? This one’s called resentment and it’ll happen when I finally get a clue.

Sure. I have old patterns that show up when I least expect them to. You want me to trace these patterns on your flesh too?

I’m not pretending to be untouched anymore. I know who I am and what I am now.

I’ve learned how to smile at things that still echo through my chest at night.

And even after all these years I still don’t know what part of me is “me” yet. Or what part is just survival wearing my pretty face. I’ll figure it out one day.

In the meantime …

Go ahead. Love me daddy… I’m real good at playing pretend.

Want me with the kind of hunger that ruins your composure.

The kind that lingers in your chest long after I’m gone.

To be chosen without hesitation.

To be valued without having to earn it first.

Pathetic, isn’t it?

My soul is on fire, like always

But life is a lot quieter now