It’s not all bad,

I have this exboyfriend. He’s the exboyfriends of exboyfriends. Everyone jokes that if he’d call we’d be back together in an instant. Which is hysterical because we broke up… over a year ago. We both tell each other “love you” or “You’re my only happy thought today” He makes me smile. The worst part though is he fixed it. He picked me up when I was broken and loved me anyway

What’s so wrong with that?

I’ve been waiting for someone to do the same thing since the day he left. Combine that with the fact that I am the pickiest girl on the planet and I’m asking for the prince and looking in the slums right? I have to learn how to love myself first. It’s hard though because he showed me how easy it was for someone to pick me up and mend my wounds with love. I could fall for him every day of every year. I could trace the outline of his chin, run my fingers down the cracks of his hand, I could love him with my whole heart, and he could return each whole-hearted love…. Or at least we use to be able to, back when we were the people we said we were.

But we grew up. He became a little too bleak. I became a bit too free spirited and a little over broken. It’s sad watching love turn bad.

Alas, I love him, (let’s call him.. sean) I loved so much about him. Want to know another crappy part of all of this? When you do finally open your heart, it makes heartbrakes that much harder. Want to add the topping on the crappy cake? When you finally get over him and still see him and every inch of your body yearns for his touch, your conscience feels so abused and ashamed you couldn’t even think of doing something with no-strings attached. It’s a clean hurtful break. As much as I say I’d jump him, or how much he’s grown up and I’d love to “tap that” it’s all in jest. My mind would never let me. My heart beats ten times faster than it has to and inside it becames a bigger battle than it needs to be when I wonder,

“Can I ever just do or do I always have to question and react?”


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Filed under Memories, Thoughts, Worries

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