I have to cover my mouth when answering people why I’ve been so distant. It’s the only way to contain the sea of words threatening to spill out. If I have learned anything observing human curiosity it’s that people unknowingly want simple answers to simple questions, and my mind is a rainbow of complex contradictions that prove hard to explain to anyone but me. But I owe it to myself to try. Lately very few mistake me as fastidious but I simply find no comfort in meaningless relationships anymore. I prefer sitting in silence with a person too shallow to interact. Engaging in small talk feels like a million leeches latching onto my body, steadily draining me of life. But put me with someone I adore and admire and they’ll soften my tongue and I’ll fight to contain the joy seeping from my lips. I haven’t always been this way. I’m nothing more than the result of my pain. When you lose precious years of your life to loves and friendships that did no value to you, the self-reflection process rewires your insides. Pain arrests your soul, holding you ransom until you’ve learned all it requires. I exhale clarity these days. I know my heart. I know my worth now. I know who’s worthy of my time. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. If you’re with me, be with me. If not, it’s okay. No hard feelings here. Only love.
I used to wonder why I was so crippled by endings, why I resisted goodbyes and clung to false hope until I truly understood the nature of humans. We are eternal beings. We were never made for endings. Significant to the journey of mortality is finding a hand to hold and something to love. Just because people reach for a hand I’ve long surrendered to the wind, doesn’t mean I’ve sworn off love. I’ll give my whole self again one day but until time allows I’ve found my peace in the absoluteness of solitude. It will take someone whose presence fills me with a love greater than my own to cause me to reach for a hand. A man whose intentions mirror my unspoken truth. Why am I okay being alone?
Because I am a girl whose pen holds an infinite stream of desire and hope, and I just don’t intend on writing any more love stories that end.